Flemish Bond
by Sherbert20111
Summary: What is it that makes the Deli so successful? What did little Johnny see in the sand and when exactly is Ron going to grow up and smell the coffee? Oh, and the official diary is broken.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Started for DevApp on her birthday, but you are all welcome to come along for the ride lol. JK Rowling built some awesome characters, then killed the best ones off. Damn, I love FF.

_"If 'he' is here, then Nagini is here." Hermione thrust a small vial into Harrys hand._

_"What is it?"_

_"Anti-venom, take it as soon as you can if you get bitten." Harry looked at her in amazement._

_"You think of everything!"_

_"I've been carrying since Bathildas house," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. There were things she liked about Harry, he wouldn't ask if it was the only one, or the right concoction or any number of other useless questions relating to whether she was doing the right thing or not, he trusted implicitly that is **was**. "Oh, and Harry?"_

_"Hmm?" Harry looked up from studying the liquid sloshing in the bottom of the container._

_"It doesn't work if you get eaten first." Hermione didn't wait for an answer because she didn't expect one. _

_0.0_

_Harry missed his nemesis by seconds, the person he found instead was close to death. The dark pile of rags in the corner of the boat house was topped with an ashen face he had come to loathe in his time at Hogwarts, not least because he had witnessed the murder of his friend and mentor, Albus Dumbledore, by this persons hand. Harry pushed the emotion aside and went to see if Professor Snape was still alive. Blood soaked through in half a dozen patches of the Professors robes, dark pupils rolled listlessly behind purpling lids. Harry fished in his robes for the vial and dragged the stopper free._

_"Professor?" Harry urged, pressing the neck of the vial to Professor Snapes pale lips. "Drink this, it's antidote."_

_Snape pushed feebly at Harry and half choked, half swallowed the viscous liquid. The Professors breaths sounded harsh and misted briefly in the frigid air. Harry dropped the empty vial and rose swiftly._

_"I'll get help," promised Harry._

_"I'm already dead," whispered the Professor at his feet._

_"No chance," Harry replied. "Hermione made the antidote and it was meant for me."_

_"Granger," moaned Snape. His fingers scrabbled for the empty vial, finally grasping it and raising it in a shaking hand to the corner of his eye where a silvery tear edged free. The effort was almost too much and his hand dropped away, too heavy, too much. His chest heaved, slower, slowing. Snape closed his eyes and dreamed he was warm and safe and not alone. The reality was both better and worse._

"Leaving soon?"

Hermione glanced up at Rons solid figure, blocking her office doorway and resumed studying the final report for the day in front of her.

"I'll meet you there, ok?"

"If that's what you want," Rons broad shoulders shrugged. He ran his finger over the brass nameplate on the door which read, _'H Granger, Undersecretary, Ministry for care of Magical Creatures_, then scratched a hand over his five o'clock shadow. "It's pot roast," he said, as if that would tempt her from the neat piles of paper on her desk sooner. To further emphasize that his day was complete, he slipped his Auror robes off and folded them haphazardly over one arm and sniffed, significantly.

"I might be awhile, I sent an owl to Molly earlier, asking her to plate my dinner," said Hermione, distracted by the spindly inked characters stretched in neat lines before her. _If this was true..._

Ron frowned. "You're not thinking of _driving_ down are you?"

Hermione avoided eye-contact at all costs. "I have some things to finish, that's all," she evaded.

Ron folded his arms and leaned heavily against the door frame, "you're not a Muggle you know."

"Yes, Ron," Hermione confirmed in her most patient tone, skim-reading the rest of the report, "I am most definitely aware that I am not a Muggle, thank you for reminding me. Now, was there anything else?"

"Not really," Ron sighed. "You sure it will make it all the way from London to Honiton without rattling itself to bits? It's an antique."

Hermione considered carefully before she answered, this was not the first attack on what was, after her wand, her most prized possession. It had started when she bought the Haynes manual, carried on when she had armed herself with an all-in-one overall magically shrunk to fit her smaller-than-bloke-sized frame and peaked, she had thought, when the sky blue and white VW Camper van had put-putted up the drive to the Weasleys front door at The Burrow. Arthur had been fascinated by it.

"It's a classic, Ron. The term is classic."

"The term is headcase," he muttered, pushing off the doorway and wandering disconsolately down the hall."

"Night, Ron!" Hermione called after his departing figure.

His reply was largely unintelligible and probably derogatory she thought, it was difficult to tell, since he was both facing away and moving with some speed down the corridor. Hermione resumed her careful perusal of the report before her, just as Ron turned the corner out of sight. The random noises of bodies moving about buildings faded away as the evening wore on. Hermione re-read the report, twice.

It referred to a postcard sent from a muggle family holidaying on the coast near where the Weasleys lived. There wasn't much to it other than the usual – weather good, 97 flavours of ice-cream, lumpy mattress, wish you were here. Little Johnny said he thought he saw a dragon under the sand at low tide. That caught her eye, but it was the next section which made her sit up and take notice. The report further stated that the Ministry had sent an underling to investigate the sighting, stranger things had been known to happen after all, and had found…nothing in the sand, but had found a suspiciously efficient deli and lingering traces of magic on the premises.

Hermione pursed her lips, there could be an innocent explanation, the deli owner could be an ace behind the counter and the magical traces could be explained by a passing Witch or Wizard stopping in for a snack. However, Hermione was not a believer in coincidence, nor was she convinced that she had anything more than an excerpt of the full report – there was no expansion on the mention of the dragon after all. In the back of her mind, she thought it wouldn't be the first time that she had found house-elves engaged on muggle commercial premises. House-elves were free, it was true, but interacting with muggles was still strictly forbidden.

She knuckled tiredness out of her eyes and dragged over the leather bound tome that served as the diary for the official post of Undersecretary. Hermione was loathe to open the thing, since once it was open she would have to fight the urge to venture across next weeks pages and see what was coming – it was magical after all and updated itself constantly, frequently changing futures before her very eyes. Tugging at the burgundy tongue of ribbon trapped in the gilt edged pages caused the cover to swing open and pages blurred by to reach today, Friday on the one-week-per-view pages.

Friday - Office, paperwork. Annoy Ron, Knightbus to The Burrow.

Saturday – Annoy Ron. Take LittleMissSqueaky to the Beach. Investigate deli. Meet error 404, page or symbol not found. Ambient magic/talking seagull issue, advise Dept Magical Fallout.

Sunday – Annoy Ron. 1a, Old Postoffice. Offer accepted.

A/N Sidmouth has a hole in the cliffs and a Grade II listed Post office. They have HP all over them…


	2. Chapter 2

_"I dunno why you bother." Hermione felt her hackles rise, she adjusted the pile of books under one arm and regarded Ron steadily._

_"You didn't have to come with me."_

_"Thought you might like some company," Ron shrugged._

_"I did tell you where I was going."_

_Ron half lifted a shoulder and stared at his feet, toeing the corner of the door jamb._

_"Look, you don't have to come in if you don't want to." _

_Ron turned so he could lean up against the wall next to the door marked 'Sanatorium.' He sighed heavily. Hermione thought it might have been relief.  
_

_"I'll just wait here for you then."_

_"I'm not sure how long I'm going to be."_

_Ron laughed unpleasantly, "you won't be long."  
_

_Hermione rearranged the books so that she carried them in front of her and used the pile to push open the swinging doors into the ward. Her heels clicked a steady rhythm on the linoleum, coming to an abrupt halt at the end of the row of beds. Last one on the left Pomfrey had said._

___Professor Snape was slumped uncomfortably in a chair by the side of a crisply made bed, hands hidden in the opposing sleeves of dark cotton pajamas, but his ankles and feet were bare. She was suddenly embarrassed for him._

_"How are you?" Hermione steeled herself for a droll response, or something sharp, Professor Snape was well known for words that left a self-esteem in ribbons. The steepled pile of books she carried quivered at remembered malice.  
_

_"Alive," he drawled._

_"I'm glad," Hermione croaked out. She wondered at herself. The response was so automatic, it hadn't occurred to her to say anything else, despite his previously vindictive behavior._

_Snape turned his reply into a statement. "Are you." _

_Hermione held herself still under the Professors perusal. The inclination to squirm, drop her gaze, or oddly, to cover her mouth with one hand as a shield from the onslaught of his visual inquiry was almost unbearable. Eventually he looked away, out the window on to the grounds of the school. _

_"You should not have saved me."_

_Someone had brushed his hair and the vantage of height showed her silver in the unfashionably long strands of black. Naturally pale, the skin around his mouth was tightly white. Hermione dumped the books on the table by the bed and folded her arms. _

_"It wasn't up to me."_

_"Potter on his own could not have produced the same outcome." _

_The words burrowed their way into Hermiones understanding, there was no way to protect herself from what was coming. Professor Snape swung his gaze back to the young woman at the foot of his bed. "You have my debt."_

_Hermione flinched, "I don't want it."_

_Snape regarded her wordlessly, his toes curled up tight against his feet. Finally he returned a paraphrase of her own words back to her._

_"It's not up to me."_

_Hermione hesitated, then perched at the very end of the neatly made bed. _

_"Fine." The words collected themselves and tumbled out ahead of her thoughts, ahead of any coherent plan about what she might actually **do** with the information - if there was any to be had. _

_"I saw the memory extract you left - you thought you were going to die, didn't you? I think someone owes you, as you owe me, but somethings wrong isn't it? I want to know where he is, I can help."_

_"You are mistaken."_

_"I understand why it wasn't made public at the time," Hermione continued unchecked. "He was a figurehead for the struggle, an innocent struck down, not the first, but not nameless either, someone we all knew, all loved. Only you, Professor of the Dark Arts could..."_

_"Silence!" Snape howled. His hands ripped free of the sleeves hiding them and knotted fingers clawed at the arms of the chair, but he lacked the strength to rise, or even pull himself to the edge of the chair._

_Hermione shot to her feet in dismay._

_"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."_

_The pendulum of silence swung between them._

_"Madame Pomfrey says you are being transferred to St Mungos tomorrow, but she wounldn't tell me why."_

_Snapes hands shook with a sudden palsy and he methodically wound them back under the cover of the pajama sleeves. _

_"Bring me a tooth from the Basilisk."_

_"Professor...!"_

_"Bring it to me and I'll tell you. It's the only way I'll tell you." He slunped backwards against the support of the chair back. New lines of pain creased his brow._

_"I can't." Hermiones face showed the full recognition of the horror she felt for what he was asking. She was stunned, the only thing she knew that Basilisk teeth were good for, was taking life._

_Snapes lips lifted in an almost-smile at her expression._

_"Remember what your life was like, before there was magic in it?"_

_Hermione tipped her head forward slightly in a confused nod. It wasn't exactly true, she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been able to make something happen, simply because she wanted it to. The name for it came later, in an invitatiion by Owl post, to enrol at Hogwarts and learn the means to control it._

_"Now imagine you had to go back to that."_

_"Professor?"_

_Snape closed his eyes and leant his head against the back of the chair._

_"Thank you for the books Miss Granger. I'm tired, you may go."_

_0.0  
_

Hermione frowned at the notation for Saturday and ran a thumb over the inked inscription. The characters blurred as her digit passed and resurrected themselves jauntily, in exactly the same formation. Annoyed, Hermione slammed the diary shut and drummed her fingertips on it for the count of five, then reopened it on exactly the same page. _Error 404._

"Urgh," she said, slamming the book closed again and shoved it halfway across the desk. If it had been midweek she would have sent an owl to the maintenance department. As it was, late on a Friday, the chances of finding help were slim at best. She sat back in her chair, tugging her unruly hair back into some semblance of order under her barrette, in a failing attempt to defray her exasperation with things-that-were-supposed-to-work-that-didn't.

"And close..." she muttered to herself, reaching forward to close the diary,

"...and open." _404._ Hermione gave it a maniacal grin.

"And close..." she said through gritted teeth. Nonchalantly she shut the book, picked it up delicately and smacked it sharply on the edge of the desk. She breathed out slowly through her nose and counted to ten, momentarily appeased,

"annnnd open." The clock on the wall ticked behind her, previous Undersecretaries in their pictures sorrowfully shook their heads at her uncharacteristic behavior.

"Oh. Bugger." All of the lines for every day of the week displayed tumbled in situ, like the reels behind the curved glass of a jackpot machine. Hermione sighed, tipping her face ceilingwards.

"Now I'll have to tell them I dropped it." She pinched her nose as if the future fib smelt badly.

Her gaze fell back to the report, the bottom edge had rolled up on itself and she smoothed it back out, re-reading it for the last time before rolling it up. There should have been more about checking the surroundings for dragon spoor, potential nesting sites, even food sources, but there was a complete lack of follow-up on the surroundings at all. There was, however, the address for the Deli. She placed the parchment roll back into her 'pending' tray. It looked lonely, managing to offend her by its very existence. She could count the number of times that she had left something in that tray on a Friday night on the fingers of one hand. And now she would have to use two.

Reluctantly she rose and collected her bag and cloak. In the bottom of her bag, a miniaturized VW camper van jostled against her purse, keys, a few basic makeup supplies, a chuck key, sardine tin key, multipurpose tool and Rons wallet.

The corridors were silent. Hermione rode the creaking elevator to the ground floor, stepping out when the guard doors wound themselves back far enough to let her pass.

"You're late tonight, Miss? Your young man left an hour ago," called the ancient Night Porter, tipping his hat. He swung aside the waist height barrier, allowing to move from the inner to the outer lobby and smiled toothlessly.

Hermione smiled in greeting, "just a bit. You mean Ron? He had a hot date with his Mums pot roast," she laughed. "I don't mind making my own way. Could you call the Knight Bus for me?"

The Porter slapped a brass bell on his desk twice, the tinny brass ringing noise echoed the empty hallway.

"You look out for that Stan Shunpike you know, he's got an eye for the ladies," he warned, but his face was wreathed in smiles. Hermione shared the joke, if she was honest she had a soft spot for the hard spoken cockney, who was as full of stories as he was of bravado.

Headlights swung into view through the frosted glass doors, accompanied by a hideous shrieking of brakes.

"Your chariot awaits," the Night Porter bent in a courtly bow, gesturing to the glass doors. Hermione smiled goodbye, wrapped her cloak close about her to ward of the chill in the air and stepped into the night.

A/N A chuck key is used to change the business end on a drill, every girl should have one. Hands up who carries their blokes stuff in their bag...

No, I'm not going to kill him off, he's far too interesting and really ought to have his own story. If you know any good ones, hook me up, I've been reading E/B and am comfortably numb.

This story will update once/twice a week-ish. Its probably terribly old hat to do an HP drabble. Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

_If there was something that could be said about Hermione Granger, it was that she did not suffer fools gladly. In addition, she did, for the most part, do what was expected, when expected, but not today. She down again and folded her hands in her lap. She never took her eyes from Professor Snapes face._

_"You may go," Snape repeated, with more aggravation in his tone. He sounded a bit more like the Professor Snape that Hermione was more acquainted with and she relaxed slightly._

_"What exactly are you trying to tell me."_

_Snapes eyebrows rose, but his eyes did not open._

_"I'm trying, to tell you, to leave," he said dryly._

_"Your knowledge would be a great loss to the Magical Community." _

_"No doubt."_

_"The Ministry has created a number of advisory posts in the wake of the war."_

_"I know." Snape gave a snort of disgust and said disparagingly, "politics."_

_"Teaching may be beyond you but..."_

_"It is not beyond me, Miss Granger." Professors sharp black eyes fixed on Hermiones face, his tone was acidic. "I am disinclined to preach what I am disinclined to practice."_

_Ever to the point, Hermione asked, "won't or can't?"_

_Snapes eyes opened lazily, he looked almost amused. His reply was a low drawl._

_"Irrelevant."_

_"Hardly."_

_Professor Snapes hawk-like features stilled. Eventually he spread his fingers wide before closing them into loose fists and appearing to reach a decision. In a neutral tone, he continued._

_"Potter was too late, or not late enough, or maybe not to blame at all," the Professors lips twitched downwards at the edges. "Whilst I must commend you on your antidote, it appears to have done more harm than good." Snape waited a beat to complete the rest of his monologue for full effect. "Unless you were intending to burn the magic out of Potters system altogether."_

_Hermione blanched._

_"No!"_

_"No? As I recall, he mentioned that you had made it for him."_

_The remainder of Snapes reply came as a series of staccato questions._

_"You don't think he would be safer as a Muggle? Live out a normal life in obscurity? Who wouldn't want that for their 'friend'?"_

_Snapes eyes monitored her face shrewdly._

_"Harry never backed away from his destiny."_

_"Ah, but we are not talking about Harrys choices here are we?"_

_Hermione flushed hotly._

_"I don't know what you mean," she said softly._

_"Oh Miss Granger, I think you can do better than that. My present difiiculty could be due to Naginis venom, but we don't really believe that do we? Allow me to offer the benefit of my most recent insight. I had thought a Muggle life would be an acceptable alternative to death. I was wrong."_

_Snape carefully fitted finger tip to finger tip so that his hands bridged over his stomach._

_"Did you know the conversation First Years have with the Sorting Hat is heard by the House Masters?"_

_Hermione was shocked to the core, she could remember it like it was yesterday - the proud moment of stepping out in front of all her peers in Hogwarts Great Hall, warring with the serpentine dread in her stomach. Reading ahead was a habit she that had acquired early and kept honed. It meant that she had already been well aware of what each of the four houses stood for - and who stood for them. She had also known that squeaking into Gryffindor would be a close run thing._

_"I don't believe you."_

_"Not Slytherin indeed," Snape replied archly, quoting her desperate plea to the Sorting Hat. He__ ticked Slytherin qualities off on his pale, tapered fingers._

_"Tell me which of these you are **not**? - __Resourceful? Self sufficient? Determined? Ambitious?" The last word he drew out softly, "Cunning?"_

_Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably._

_"Come now, these are hardly negative qualities," Snape said smoothly, "I'm sure you felt you were doing it for the right reasons. Although I hardly think Potter would thank you for it - unless you were planning to join him?"_

_Hermiones mouth fell open. He couldn't know, he couldn't possibly know._

_"Harry and me, it's not like that!"_

_"War makes strangers of us all, even to ourselves. You are young, Miss Granger. Give yourself the benefit of time to heal. As for the memory-tear, our mutual friend is best forgotten, he is beyond my help now, perhaps soon, yours too."_

_Hermione felt her face heat. The phrase 'mutual friend' brought a ribbon of inconsequential memories to mind. Cedric Diggory was everybodys mutual friend. His fairness and even-handed manner made him a common favorite across discordant factions, it had also made him her idol. She, in turn, was the recipient of caught glances, ducked smiles, an approving nod when her work was cited for house points and a meaningful stare when he had presented himself at the Goblet of Fire. At the time she had told herself it was just a crush, but a crush that had got so out of control that she had found herself looking for him in Divination. _

_There were other, more detailed memories, like knocking into a solid shoulder in a corridor and Cedric catching at her to keep her on her feet, large hands with gentle pressure on her upper arms and an easy laugh to settle the awkwardness of the situation between them. She had been frozen with his hands on her, his laughter had dropped away, but his hands hadn't and when she had looked up, past his tie pulled loose and a open collar, she hadn't been able to get past his plush lips being mauled by his teeth. Professor Snape had taken great delight in bursting that particular bubble and moved them on._

_Another bubble she was convinced, in hindsight, she had burst herself. At the Quidditch pitch, she had escorted Ron and Harry to practice and was itching to read the Lexicon of Magical Creatures when she realized that the team coming off was Hufflepuff. Cedric had stopped beside her and turned to watch the pitch, presumably to evaluate Gryffindors form. It wasn't strictly permitted, but she hadn't been able to gather enough wit to mention it because she was too busy side-eyeing his profile and how the wind had blasted his cheeks a girlish pink._

_Heat peeled off him and he had jammed the broomstick between his knees to keep it upright while he yanked off his gloves. With his clearly muscled thighs flexing around the upright, Hermione had thought of a huge phallus and her mouth had gone dry. The team zoomed and looped in formation, warming up for full practice. They whooped at her, snapping her out of her daze and Hermione whipped up a thumb and forefinger in a circle to show her approval of their antics. A low voice beside her said, "you guys are pretty tight, huh?" It had made her jump out of her skin and she had simply nodded, still mortified that her thoughts had taken such a lewd turn. That afternoon, Cho Chang had burst into the common room with the news that Cedric Diggory had asked her to the Yule Ball. It had been nothing, and everything._

_Cedric had sought her out at the Ball, complimenting her on her dress and expressing surprise, but warmth for her partner, Viktor Krum. Nothing, everything, infuriating hindsight. Viktor had returned and so had Cho. _

_And then he had died. Supposedly. Before she could picture the fleeting image in the memory extract, __Snapes voice broke through._

_"Only one thing remains. Are you ready?"_

_The Professors eyes glittered expectantly. __Sibilant syllables whispered between them, they crawled over Hermione skin and made the hair on her scalp rise. She found herself trying to form the sounds in the same way that Snape had and clamped her teeth down firmly on her tongue._

_An austere smile slid over the Professors face, he hunched forwards in his chair. The same rasping hiss was repeated._

_Hermione jerked up and backwards, tripping over herself to get away from the oily sounds. The translation was automatic and somewhat gentrified, it meant 'you look lovely.' The more literal translation from parseltongue was, 'you look good enough to eat.'_

_0.0_

An old fashioned red double-decker London Bus was pulled up tight to the curb outside the Ministry doors. Hanging off the open back end was a skinny young man wearing what passed for a dark conductors uniform. He had one hand clasped around a vertical pole that bisected the step up and picked at a hand wound ticket machine with the other. He leered at Hermione wolfishly.

"Evening all!"

"Hi Stan."

"Just the one of you?"

"Yes, only me. Ron went by Floo, I think."

"All the more for me then!"

Hermione pulled herself aboard and leant against the back window, surveying the interior of the bus. Along both sides, neat cots were chained to the walls both sides, there was a small seating area near the driver and a shrunken head, suspended under the rear view mirror spun slowly. The drivers left elbow showed, encased in a grey woollen sleeve, resting on a low partition that separated the driver from the passengers. Hermione inspected the other occupants of the Knight Bus - two sleeping, one seated near the driver reading a ragged copy of the Daily Prophet. On the back page, a Quidditch player caught a snitch and threw it into the air in celebration.

"S'all right for the fellas, never knew a Dame who wanted soot in their 'air. Burrow?"

"What? Oh, yes, The Burrow please."

Stan rang up the ticket, tore off a perforated paper strip and handed it over.

"I'll put it on your tab," he winked.

It wasn't the usual way of doing business, the Knight Bus was supposed to be for unexpectedly stranded Magical personnel. Hermione however, preferred it over the nausea of disapparating and the lulling motion was oddly soothing. The time it took also allowed her to both wind down from her job and to really _think, _neither was really possible whilst driving LittleMissSqueaky. As deligtful as she was, the VW Camper demanded total concentration and sadly Ron was right in some respects, she did rattle terribly.

Thinking of LittleMissSqueaky brought the odd diary entries to mind. Stan was bound to have an angle on them Hermione thought, but she was reluctant to share them in their entirety.

"Thanks Stan. Ever been to the beach near The Burrows?"

Stan looked oddly uncomfortable.

"Where d'ya mean exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know, anything on the coast interesting near there. I might have a fancy for a day out tomorrow, if the weathers nice."

Stan excavated the contents of his ear with a finger.

"Weeeell, I don't know as I'd bother near there, down the coast a-ways though," his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's goin's on."

Hermione settled herself on a seat further inside the bus as the vehicle lurched into motion. Stan followed her with his chest puffed out like a pouter pigeon, bursting with information.

A/N I have kevlar jic lol...


	4. Chapter 4

_"No need to be so coy, Miss Granger. I am given to understand you managed to retrieve a Basilisk tooth in the midst of the final battle."_

_"That was Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, she remembered the sick feeling when she and Ron had stood facing the massive circular door at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The feeling had come, not from being presented with the obstacle, or even the ghoulish decoration of seven snakes heads locking it firmly in place, but rather that she thought she might know how to open it. She couldn't say how exactly, she just did. Inside her mouth, her tongue had rolled its tip backwards and up, against the roof of her mouth, her lungs filled shallowly so that whatever sound was coming would be muted and soft. _

_Hermione had been reading the silvery runes around the edge when Ron had spoken the very words she was reading in her head and for a terrible moment, she thought she had spoken them aloud herself. In panic, she had glanced across at Ron, only to be met with his blatant smugness and the news that Harry had a problem keeping his mouth shut._

_Snape's features took on a particularly yellow cast, his pallor showed in sharp relief against the darkness of his hair._

_"Weasley?"_

_"No, I mean Harry, Harry talks in his sleep."_

_Snape nodded gently, a glimmer of amusement lit his eye, "a much more appropriate choice."_

_"What? No, not Harry! And me, I mean," Hermione tried to calm her flustered demeanour. She took a deep breath and started again. _

_"Harry talks in his sleep, a lot."_

_"Don't feel you have to explain, Miss Granger, it's quite all right."_

_Snape stretched his neck, as if the thought made him overly warm._

_"Ron, - Ron shares his dorm and picked up some parseltongue. I don't know how he managed to say the right thing, 'I am worthy' doesn't exactly trip off the tongue."_

_Snape regarded her with interest._

_"And are you?"_

_Hermione ignored the comment._

_"And I don't have to explain anything to you, it's just…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"The tournament, the memory-tear, you knew what was going to happen didn't you?"_

_Snapes face hardened._

_"I don't appreciate your accusation, Miss Granger."_

_"I don't mean knew, for definite," Hermione tried to explain, without giving away the lift of hope that the pensieve had offered. "Simply that you knew __**something**__."_

_"Be careful, Miss Granger. Be very, very, careful."_

_The Professor's eyes flicked casually around the ward. He gestured her forward, Hermione craned to hear what he was saying as his voice dropped to just above a whisper and his lips moved barely at all. She didn't realize he had taken her hand in his until he tugged her closer. Awkwardly she stooped in front of him. _

_"The Ministry fell, as it should. The Money that supported it, did not."_

_"Gringotts?"_

_Snapes admonition to be quiet came as a soothing hiss._

_"Ssshhhhh"_

_"The new order would benefit from the practical application of something frequently absent in the gifted."_

_Hermione tried to straighten up. Snape's eyes were locked on hers, they were almost hypnotic in their hold on her. His pupils were a dark and shiny black, around the rim was the faintest trace of deep brown with a golden rim. She felt the urge to move closer and a fog drifted comfortably over her thoughts of retrieving her hand. She murmured._

_"And that is?" _

_The back of her hand came into view as Snape raised it and very gently pressed it to his thin lips, before releasing it altogether._

_"Common sense."_

_Hermione stepped back, fighting the wave of embarrassment that threatened to overwhelm her face with a rising tide of pink. She tried to draw the conversation back on point._

_"I meant what I said, about helping."_

_Professor Snape sighed and leaned back in his chair. His voice returned to the familiar bored rasp._

_"I believe you read a great deal, Miss Granger?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Why is that?"_

_"Something my parents taught me actually, about preparation meeting opportunity." She added belatedly, "I enjoy it."_

_"Perhaps in your travels you will come across studies on the theoretical hierarchy of venom. Let me know when you do."_

_Feeling summarily dismissed, Hermione retreated. Snape called after her._

_"Just one more thing?"_

_Hermione turned and raised her eyebrows._

_"What happened to the Elder Wand?"_

_"Harry snapped in half and threw the pieces into the ravine."_

_"Tell him…"_

_Of all the thoughts running through Hermione's head about how Snape would rage at the loss of such a powerful magical tool, nothing came close to the reality._

_"Tell him, thank you."_

_Hermione nodded curtly and made her way back to the doors. She swung them open ahead of her, stepped through and allowed them to swing back behind her, pausing for her scrambled brain to catch up with the rest of her._

_"How is he?"_

_"The same."_

_"Dunno why you put yourself through it," Ron said disinterestedly, but he eyed her flushed face and tense shoulders thoughtfully._

_"Wind you up did he?"_

_"Not exactly."_

_Hermione thought about asking Ron if he knew anything about the hierarchy of venom and then thought about how she would explain wanting to know, when she didn't exactly know herself other than it might be linked to the 'mutual friend' situation. Suddenly she wanted to see the contents of the memory-tear again very badly, because there simply had to be a clue. From what she could remember, there was a load of hokum about the Ministry of Mysteries and Hermione didn't subscribe much towards the notion of preconceived fates. There was also a glimpse of said 'mutual friend.'_

_"Here," said Ron fishing in his back pants pocket and extracting a slightly foxed box, about the size of a playing card. The pale yellow and brown decoration was creased with a fairly distinctive curve, the curly print said in excitable script, 'contains 1x chocolate frog AND famous magical person trading card.' "I meant to give you this earlier, but you look like you could really use it now."_

_Hermione peeled open the top of the box, a melted shape that looked more like a tadpole on the way to being a frog, than an actual frog, wriggled out. She held it gingerly between finger and thumb and swallowed it whole, barely supressing a grimace at the wriggling sensation in her gullet._

_"Thanks Ron." _

_Hermione sucked the chocolate off her thumb, the action seemed to be strangely fascinating to Ron. He looked like he was salivating and he swallowed, loudly. She ended up wiping the remainder of it on her jeans, just to put him off._

_"Sorry, did you want to share it?"_

_"Um, no, um, Trelawney gave it to me on the way over. It was supposed to be for him," Ron gestured towards the ward, "but I forgot until now, and you looked, well, you always said chocolate is never a bad thing."_

_"Supposed to be for…? Oh."_

_"So, who's on the card, you know in the box."_

_Hermione fumbled with the rest of the packaging._

_"Honestly Ron, how old are you, you're such a big kid, haven't you got all these already?"_

_Hermione pulled the card out and stared. Ron leaned over her to see._

_"Huh, must be a new series," said Ron. "I haven't got that one. Not really famous is he?"_

_Hermione carefully smoothed out the trading card. On one side was a name in bold italics, the text underneath covered a life history and known accomplishments. Someone had written over the top in broad strokes and black ink, the word, 'NOW!' On the other was a likeness, in motion as magical pictures are apt to be, of a head and shoulders shot of Cedric Diggory._

0.0

"What sort of goings on?"

"'Bout a month ago, we picked up chap from the Ministry from there."

"Oh yes?"

"Looked like 'e'd been mauled by an 'ippogriff."

Stan made slashing motions across his torso.

"Ravin' he was. We 'ad to take 'im to Mungos, they came out wiv' one of them white jackets and bundled him up."

"Did he say anything? I mean anything about what he saw."

The bus took off at speed, leaving a large amount of burning rubber on the asphalt, inside Hermione held on to a vertical pole for dear life. The cots chained to the walls slid in a synchronised dance in at first one direction and then another. Stan seemed oddly unaffected by the change in velocity, merely shifting from one foot to the other. He screwed up his face.

"He said there was illegal minin' going on and he was goin' to take a big name down. Full of it 'e was."

"You don't think he was telling the truth?"

Stan carried on as if Hermione hadn't spoken.

"Youse is learned ain't ya. How's your foreignese?" 'E said he found a _Draeke_ up on the cliffs too.

Stan nodded knowingly, as if this was self-explanatory. He slapped her on the shoulder as if she was part of a great joke.

Out of the corner of her eye, the tattered copy of The Prophet shuddered.

"_Draeke? _Really, that's what he said?"

Hermione's encyclopaedic memory clicked into first gear.

"It's a lizard, a sort of dragon, one of the lesser dragon species, still quite big though. I remember Charlie Weasley telling me about them because they erm….they wouldn't normally be this far North."

"'sactly."

Hermione thought furiously, that wasn't what Charlie had said at all. He had, in fact, said that they had an adapted lower jaw, like a sieve, for sifting food out of sand.

"That's what your Boss's office said."

Hermione's tone took on a distant tone. Stan didn't seem to notice.

"Really? Well, that must be right then."

She was actually thinking of the remainder of the discussion she had had with Charlie about the evolution of this particular strain of lizard. She distinctly remembered him saying that he had rescued an immature female from some black marketeers, who were using its strange adaptation to their advantage. They, or someone else, had taught it to pan for gold.

A/N One can never have too many dragons. Draeke is Flemish for dragon, you knew that, right?


	5. Chapter 5

_Hermione warred with herself. On the one hand, she felt honor bound to inform Professor Snape. In his current state however, since it was apparent that his magical powers were somewhat disabled, he would be useless in the effort to help Cedric in whatever way was needed. On the other hand, Professor Trelawney might be able to offer more answers. Either way, the exhortation of 'NOW!' suggested that whatever action was required, it was imminent. _

_"Did Professor Trelawney say anything?"_

_"You know what she's like since the war – it takes her nine times to get a single word out."_

_Hermione frowned sadly, conversations with Professor Trelawney were difficult at the best of times, the war had simply exacerbated a pre-existing condition. Hermione had heard that as well as a painful stutter, the Divinations tutor was now also agoraphobic and refused to leave the castle._

_"The short version then?"_

_"Umm, Weasley make yourself useful, give this to Severus for me?"_

_"Why couldn't she bring it herself?"_

_"Dunno, she was a bit all over the place?"_

_"More than usual?"_

_Ron rolled his eyes._

_"I don't know – you know, one minute she all breathy and fluffy and the next her voice is like she's been at Hagrid's cigars." Ron adopted a deep and mysterious doom-laden voice, 'the sands will claim them," he sniffed significantly and reverted to his own voice, "or something."_

_Hermione rubbed her thumb back and forth over the black ink on the card, it was disappearing before her very eyes._

_"Did you see this, what do you think it means?"_

_"What? I can't see anything – oh wait, he's got more morality points than Dumbledore." Ron read the statistics upside down with his head crooked over to one side and shrugged easily. "Must be a misprint."_

_Hermione wasn't so sure, the urge to view the memory-tear peaked again. After, she decided, Professor Trelawney must be able to offer her something – if only what the card was supposed to mean. Surely Trelawney knew that Professor Snape was laid up. Hermione tapped her lips with the edge of the card, come to think of it, maybe not. Hermione hadn't seen her out of her Tower since Hogwarts had started to be rebuilt._

_"Ron, what were you doing in Trelawney's Tower? It's not like you need the credits for the exam any more."_

_Ron looked guilty and shamefaced by turns._

_"I needed to know, Herm."_

_"Know what?"_

_"What the kiss in the Chamber of Secrets meant – to you."_

_Hermione's jaw dropped. Ron looked anywhere but her. Hermione had mentally catalogued it as a spur of the moment celebration of relief that they had finally managed to get hold of the Basilisk tooth during the final battle. It hadn't occurred to her that Ron might have thought it was anything more._

_"Why didn't you just ask me, you oaf," she half slapped, half half-heartedly punched Ron's shoulder, more to get him to look at her than anything else. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, whatever this was, was going to be bad. _

_Ron dropped a bombshell._

_"Harry asked Ginny to marry him."_

_"That's good isn't it?" Hermione managed. "I mean, she loves him, they both…, he loves her, doesn't he?"_

_"The thing is," started Ron, flailing for words._

_He plunged his hands into his front pants pockets and rocked on his heels, looking at the sky._

_"I thought he and you might, I dunno. I mean, I knew Ginny would be upset, but you and Harry just know what's going on in each other's head, all the time."_

_"It's not like that, Ron," Hermione said in exasperation, it wasn't Ron's fault that he was the second person today to bring it up, but it did make her question what people thought they saw._

_"Yeah, well, so I never thought, umm. I mean I wanted to, so now…umm, we're friends right?"_

_"Of course," Hermione shook her head. Trying to figure out where Ron was going with this was filling her with equal measures of trepidation and desperation._

_"Right, right. So, that's good."_

_"Well?"_

_"Harry, he umm, he's seizing the day sort of."_

_Hermione fixed Ron with a gimlet eye, this was just the sort of impulsive thing he would do and it was beyond her how to let him down gently, so she squared up and faced what she thought was coming head on._

_"Ronald Weasley, you are not going to ask me to marry you on the strength of one kiss."_

_Ron looked dumbstruck and then really upset._

_"Oh, right. Umm, actually, I was going to ask you to go with me," he finished lamely._

_"What?" Hermione demanded._

_"To the wedding. But, it's good, you know to um, clear the air."_

_Ron tipped so far forwards on to his toes, that Hermione could hear them crack under the strain. Hermione held the sides of her forehead in her fists and kicked herself mentally._

_"Sorry, sorry, that was just awful of me. Of course I'll go to the wedding with you." She smiled weakly. "Listen, I'm going to drop by Professor Trelawneys and ask her about the card, do you want to come?"_

_Ron looked panicked._

_"No, you can't! It wasn't meant for you, she'll have me chased by spirits in my sleep!"_

_"Don't be silly," Hermione turned away._

_"No, I mean it!" said Ron desperately. "She'll 'ave me."_

_"Rooon," Hermione whined out turning her head just in time to see Ron pull out his wand, "what are you..?"_

_"Obliviate!"_

_Hermione staggered, her vision went foggy and her hearing shut down, then fired up again with an irritating buzzing noise. She stared down at her hand._

_"What's this?" she said waving the trading card under Ron's nose_

_Ron smiled genially, tucking his wand behind his back. "Oh, nothing, it was in a chocolate frog box - here I'll have it."_

_Hermione held it out of his way, studying the moving character. A side profile gave way to a full face shot, displaying a distinctive jaw line and broad shoulders. A warmth bloomed in her stomach._

_"No, it's all right. I think I'll keep it."_

_She smiled faintly in response to the image of Cedric Diggory smiling up at her and stuffed it into a pocket with finality._

_"Where were we?"_

_"Um, you remember Harry proposed to Ginny?"_

_Hermione wrinkled her forehead and rubbed her fingers over it._

_"I think so, we can go together," she said doubtfully, "if you like?"_

_Ron sighed with huge relief._

_"Yeah, good, ok. Right."_

_"Shall we go and see him."_

_Ron looked pained and choked out, "who?" He only just stopped himself glancing back towards the Sanatorium._

_"Harry, of course!" _

_"He's back at the Burrow, ok to disapparate?" Ron asked anxiously._

_"Wait until we are outside, ok?"_

_Ron shrugged and dawdled in her wake. Hermione stopped when the corridor arched out into the airy space of the Quad. Rebuilding had started quickly after the war, but here and there, piles of rubble lay as dusty reminders of torrid times._

_"I don't think I'm coming back, Ron."_

_"No need, not since McGonagall gave you honorary NEWTs."_

_Hermione searched Ron's face. It was true, Hogwarts new headmistress had given all of Dumbledore's Army honorary passes for their final exams. "It all seems a bit irrelevant now doesn't it? – NEWTs, I mean, after all we've been through."_

_"The Ministry doesn't care, they still want their bits of paper," Ron stated dourly._

_"You got yours."_

_"Didn't get an Outstanding though," said Ron sarcastically._

_Hermione tossed her hair to avoid starting an argument. She knew Ron had got suitable grades, however much he quibbled over them, he never was much of one for studying and she thought that McGonagall had been more than generous in offering him an 'Acceptable.' She took a huge gulp of air and tightened her stomach in anticipation of the stomach-turning sensation of disapparation._

_"Ready?"_

_Hermione gritted her teeth and took Ron's outstretched hand._

_"Ready."_

_The pair disapparated from the Quad with a sharp snapping sound. Above them, the pale face of Professor Trelawney showed, she mouthed the heel of her hand and rocked to and fro on the small window seat. Her eyes lost focus and after a short while, she sighed and smiled contentedly, mumbling to herself._

_"Lucky girl."_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N If the back and forth is driving you nuts, the italics are 'back' and this *points* is 'forth.'

"How long until we reach the Burrow Stan?"

Hermione had a sudden urge to go over dragon facts with Ron's older brother. It helped that Charlie was home on leave this weekend.

"Long enough for a quickie!"

Stan's eyebrows took on a life of their own.

"Err no, thanks though," Hermione replied demurely, thinking it was always nice to be asked, even if the answer was always going to start with 'not-if-you-were-the-last…' If Hermione had been asked to give Stan's physical description to anyone, it would have gone something along the lines of 'imagine what a whippet would look like as a person.'

"Next time, eh?" Stan looked hopeful.

Hermione thought long and hard about her next question. There was an outside possibility that another mystery could be solved with Stan's help. One that had taunted her off and on, in the moments when she let the thoughts break though. She amazed herself at not having thought of it before.

"Probably not. Look, do you remember the Tri-wizard Tournament?"

"You mean THE Tri-wizard Tournament? The last one? The one where a boy died? It made the papers you know. I reads 'em."

Stan's face took on a shifty look, his eyes lost their anchor on Hermione's face and raced around the bus's lower deck.

"'Specially what they don't say."

"Stan, I was wondering, were there any _unusual _passengers immediately after, picked up from say, Hogwarts?"

Stan wagged his finger at her. In contradiction, the rest of him seemed to vibrate with enthusiasm.

"Ah, I couldn't say," but the keenness of his gaze suggested that he could and would and wanted to, if she could only work out how to open the flood gates.

She sighed disconsolately, she hadn't got a clue what a password might be, what the _unusual_ _passenger_ might have looked like, if indeed he was smuggled out this way. It seemed more likely than any other way, given the state of affairs at the time, she wasn't certain whether the Ministry would have been 'in' on it or not and since the Knight Bus had been notoriously partisan during the war, the balance of probabilities pointed to not.

In fact, if it wasn't for Professor Snape's memory-tear, Hermione would have been none the wiser about the possible survival of her almost suitor. The question had always remained though, if he was still alive, why hadn't he surfaced? _And come for her._

She kicked herself back into her reality. Her practical self had buckled down and got into the 'new' and 'improved' Ministry in the area most closely aligned with her interest – Magical Creatures. The war, and the events leading up to it, were barely referred to these days, no-one wanted to be reminded of how badly the administration had failed the Magical World in its most desperate hour of need.

Hermione ferreted in her hand bag for her keys and the small VW Camper Van, her voice when it came, was muffled. Despite its small size, the bag appeared to have completely consumed one of her arms, a shoulder and most of her head.

"Drop me at the top of the driveway, can you Stan?"

She reappeared and had to untangle some of her hair from the clasp. Gripped tightly in one hand was the Camper Van and her keys and something extra - a very dog-eared faded trading card, wedged between the metal coils of her key-ring.

Stan's eyes focused on the tatty piece of card and lit up, his voice became hoarse with excitement.

"I knew it!"

"What?"

Hermione tugged the card free guiltily and tucked it safely out of sight.

"Um, ignore that, it's just a stupid trading card. Ron's," she lied. "I've got his wallet too," that part was true at least

"The beach you say?"

"Pardon? Oh, yes, I thought I'd give the old girl a run."

Hermione waved the small vehicle at him. It rattled ominously. She held it in the palm of her hand and the furious face of a ginger cat appeared and disappeared from the back window. Hermione groaned and closed her eyes. Crookshanks must have been inside when she shrank it – he had taken to sleeping in the sink in the Camper Van and she hadn't thought to check. The last time this had happened, everything inside the Camper Van had been covered in Kneazle hair for a week. Stan leaned in and his voice was almost lost in the creaks and groans of the Knight Bus folding space and time in getting to where it needed to go.

"You'll be wanting to go to Sittlehollow."

"I will?"

Hermione tried to keep most of the surprise out of her voice. The name was synonymous for her, with the roll of parchment she had been forced to leave in her pending tray.

Stan nodded seriously, "best ice-cream anywhere, muggle of course, look for the signs for Purbeck. There's a money changer in the back of the pet shop if you're short." Stan rattled off an address, "you can't miss it, it's next door to the Deli."

The shrunken head called from the front of the bus, in a strong Jamaican accent.

"You wants to try de shrimp and sauce inna sesame seed bun, dey are to die for!"

If there was any other advice, it was lost in an hysterical giggle, made all the more macabre by the head spinning slowly to face the back of the bus and displaying that the lips were not moving at all, despite the noise clearly coming from them.

"Dis stop for pot roast, old fren's and noo memrie's."

The chuckling reached epic proportions.

Hermione clung on to a rail with grim determination whilst the Knight Bus shuddered to a halt. She had the distinct feeling that the back end of the bus was trying to squeeze itself past her and out through the front windscreen.

Stan clicked his heels and nodded gallantly, handing her off the bus and into the dark October evening. It was dry, still and getting cooler by the second. Stars twinkled in the clear skies, nothing obscured their beauty out here, unlike in the city where the ubiquitous city lighting hid them from view.

"Until we meets again."

"Thanks Stan."

She waited a moment, Stan looked back inside the bus and it shot out of view, spitting up the dirt of the driveway. Hermione brushed her hair out of her eyes and set down the little Camper Van and stood well back. She drew up her wand and with a practised flick, uttered the familiar words to make it full size.

"_Engorgio!"_

The Camper Van grew proportionately larger. She stopped it when it looked about the right size and unlocked the driver's side door, clambered in and chucked her hand bag into the passenger foot well. A dim light faded on overhead, displaying the grey acrylic covered seating and allowing her to slot the key into the starting mechanism.

A circle of cream prayer-beads slung over the rear-view mirror clicked gently and swayed side-to-side with her movements. She reached for the door handle to slam it shut, rocking the van with the force of it. The engine turned over twice before coughing into life and the vehicle put-putted back into her heart.

Getting started was always the hardest part, so she began with the easiest bit. Music. Don McLean opened up with a few bars and, _'a long, long, time ago,'_ and Hermione set to humming along while she got into position for the next bit – one foot on the brake, butt half on the driver's seat, half on the passenger's. She gripped the floor mounted parking brake with both hands and grunted with the effort of making it release, sighing heavily when it gave in. She shuttled across to the driver's seat, flipped on the headlights and shifted into first gear.

"And we're off," she declared. A heavy thud told her that Crookshanks was on his way up front and sure enough, a ginger, furry face nosed under her elbow and a large, striped, cat-like creature jumped lightly on to the passenger seat, ending up with its front paws on the dash.

Hermione's voice went up a notch to compete with the engine noise as she shifted smoothly into second and this was how she arrived at the Weasley's front door – in full voice and an old muggle Camper Van. The five minute drive was barely worth it, but the look on Ron's face as he opened the door made it all worthwhile. He hated it. For reasons Hermione couldn't quite put a name to, Hermione loved that he hated it.

She dragged on the parking brake, heaving against the stubborn metal and plastic until the third click and beamed at him through the rapidly misting up window.

A/N DevApp reliably informs me this is how she applies the parking brake. Purbeck ice-cream exists and is made by food-angels in devon in the UK. Cats who sleep in the sink are universal, probably.


	7. Chapter 7

_They re-apparated on the edge of the lawns outside of The Burrow, still holding hands. Ron's hand gripped hers so tightly, the circulation was almost cut off, it was also the reason why Hermione hadn't ended up face-first in the hydrangeas. She fought down a mouthful of bile while Ron waited patiently for her innards to catch up with her outerds and rubbed her back in what was probably meant to be a soothing manner, whilst his annoying quip was anything but._

_"You'll get used to it."_

_It made Hermione want to hit him with her hand bag, just as soon as she was certain that the action wouldn't be followed by her throwing up on his shoes. It wouldn't have been so bad, if it were not for the fact that the comment hadn't changed in almost 5 years. The problem was really, neither had he. As she straightened up, Ron stepped nimbly out of reach and havered by the back door. As in many houses, the Weasley front door was only considered useful for newlyweds and people leaving in boxes. Ron voiced his concern with cautious optimism._

_"All right then?"_

_Hermione breathed in deeply, taking in the slight taint of ocean on the air. The coast was miles away, but the salt laden air had roamed in with the evening's on-shore breeze and settled in the little hollow that The Burrow occupied. She was a city girl all told, but the sea held a charm all of its own for her._

_Hermione tested her balance. She swore, not for the first time, that she would find another way to travel just as soon as she had a minute to really think about it._

_"I will be."_

_Ron pushed the door open and disappeared from view, Hermione followed, self-medicating with anti-nausea incantations and was immediately accosted by Mr Weasley brandishing a Friday-Ad._

_"Afternoon, Hermione! So glad you're here, how does this work?"_

_Hermione squinted at what she could see of the magazine, remembering the Friday-Ad had a 'vehicles for sale' section made her feel like her prayers might just have been answered. If she could separate the periodical from its earnest owner without getting trapped in a conversational wormhole for the next half an hour, her salvation could be closer to hand than she had thought._

_"Hello, Mr Weasley._

_"Muggles use it to buy and sell things."_

_"Fascinating!"_

_"Let's say I wanted….transportation…"_

_Hermione gingerly extracted the newspaper from Mr Weasley's hand, making her way to the cluttered surface of the kitchen table. Paperwork stacked itself neatly out of the way on her approach, the salt and pepper pots capered themselves off to one side. Mr Weasley followed Hermione like a faithful hound with the certainty of a favourite bone. Hermione drew out a chair and took a seat. Mr Weasley did likewise, but turned his back to front and sat astride it, resting his forearms and chin along the chair back._

_"First turn to the correct section, here, see? Vehicles are towards the back. Cars, commercial vehicles, caravans, ah, here, hmmm. Do you know what a camper van is?_

_"A camper….van?"_

_There was an awestruck silence. Eventually Mr Weasley shook his head. _

_"No. No idea. Tell me everything!"_

_"I can do better than that, there's a picture. Imagine sky blue and white livery."_

_Hermione pointed to a grainy black and white photograph above a short paragraph of text. It showed a side view of the offering against a backdrop of foam flecked waves._

_"Original fixtures and fitting, in need of a little TLC and a new home, one pre-loved VW camper van. Road tax and MOT'd until March next year."_

_Hermione read off the mileage and the year, looking over the price and location with particular interest. She spared a glance at Ron's dad, he looked like he was lovestruck. She queried him dubiously._

_"Would you like to come with me to see it?_

_There was a flurry of movement and Mr Weasley was across the room in an instant._

_"Love to. I'm ready, I'll tell Molly, let's go!"_

_"Wait! It doesn't work like that! I have to make a call to the owner to arrange to see it. You don't have a telephone and Muggles don't use the fire-place for having conversations."_

_"Telephone!" said Mr Weasley with unbelievable excitement. "There's one in the village." He shot back across the room to Hermione's side. "Can I watch you use it? I won't say a word!"_

_Hermione agreed cautiously._

_"We can make the call this evening. I really ought to congratulate Harry and Ginny first. There's also something I need to check in the pensieve if Harry doesn't mind._

_Mr Weasley looked disappointed for a minute, then reached for the Friday-Ad again. He flicked it open randomly and read off the first item from the new section. His crazed expression popped up above the open pages, and with an equally crazed tone asked._

_"What do you think Molly would say about llamas?"_

_Hermione backed away towards the stairs._

_"I couldn't say."_

_She left him poring over his new obsession. Her own, was safely memorised, top left, page #103. Hermione navigated the stairs on autopilot, the prospect of being mobile was thrilling, the enticement of the contents of the pensieve was equally so._

_Hermione raised a hand to knock on the door to Ginny's room. She knew Harry was in there, she had a sense that they were comfortably close and crossed her fingers for decent, if not fully dressed. The rogue thought of a home of her own resurfaced with a pang. She couldn't stay here forever, especially since it was becoming evident that Ron saw her in a somewhat different light to the one she saw herself in._

_She and Ginny had shared it for a while, right up until the point that Hermione had walked in on Harry 'saying' goodnight to Ginny and she had been forced to throw a pillow to break them apart. By rights it should have been a jug of water. After the infamous face-sucking episode, Hermione had removed herself to the top-most attic room. It hadn't needed much doing to it, she had simply added a narrow bed and chest of drawers to the telescope and desk already in residence. _

_Hermione regarded the Weasley family home as her own these days, as did Harry. The lull in the fighting immediately after Hogwarts had allowed her to track down her parents and reverse the obliviate spell. Despite their entreaties to stay, she had opted to return, taking up residence in The Burrow and setting her hat at a post with the Ministry._

_There was a good chance, with the recent news, that Harry was going to become a permanent fixture with the Weasleys now. She, for her own part, fitted in as best she could, in a household so different to her own only-child upbringing. Weasleys took up a great deal of space, **headspace**, she thought to herself. Even if she couldn't see them, she could hear them, they didn't come with volume controls and if it wasn't the chatter, there would be a radio on, updating about the last of the Death Eaters on the run, or the house, creaking and groaning, or the clock in the kitchen tick-ticking in her head. _

_The clock unnerved her. It wasn't the fact that each household member was represented on a hand, like an hour, or a minute hand, but pointing to a location rather than a time, but that she had been rattled to find (by accidentally falling asleep next to Ron on the couch) the cadence of the clock matched exactly with Ron's heartbeat. Molly had explained the clock had been handed down through the generations, but when she had gone into detail about each baby's caul being pasted into the mechanism, the glint in Molly's eye had made Hermione gracefully bow out of the conversation on the pretext of a squeamish disposition. They both knew this to be a lie._

_Harry's voice called before she had the chance to knock. He was pleased she had returned and it shone through his welcome. Hermione automatically tuned in, it was safe, but would be safer in another 5 seconds or so._

_"Come in! Come in." Aside, she knew he said to Ginny, perhaps answering an unspoken query, "Hermione."_

_Hermione opened the door, Harry was half way across the room, Ginny had her back to her and trying to finger comb some order into her hair._

_"Hi, Harry, Ginny, I'm so happy for you both!"_

_Ginny finished straightening her appearance and met Harry and Hermione where they stood._

_"Can I see the ring?"_

_Ginny shyly offered her left hand, displaying a shining stone on a thin gold band. Harry cleared his throat roughly. _

_"It was my Mother's._

_Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Loss was too small a word for it, devastation was a far better fit. She turned without thinking and hugged Harry fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut against his pain. Harry returned her embrace, tightening his hold around her until she could barely breathe. Ginny reached a hand to Harry's shoulder, but made no move to pull the two apart. For Hermione, the mood shifted immediately, from abandonment to hope. Hermione made a conscious thought to pull away._

_Harry arms found Ginny's waist and Hermione made an effort to tune out the low white noise she heard whenever she and Harry were together, their connection was making feel invaisive. Ginny piped up softly._

_"I need to see Mum about Supper."_

_Harry kissed Ginny tenderly on the shoulder and let her go. Ginny's parting glance was for Hermione, however. Hermione waited until the door closed behind her._

_"She's good for you."_

_Harry looked down at his own hands, spreading his fingers out in front of him._

_"She is. I'm….better with her."_

_His hands were steady. He closed them into fist and relaxed them again, letting them drop to his sides. Hermione thought about how whole Harry had felt, as soon as Ginny had touched him. Her own situation twisted at her heart. There was no possibility that Ron would be anything other than a friend, a further thought escaped and spiralled into the ether – all the time the mystery of the memory-tear remained unsolved._

_Harry gestured behind himself, to a stone structure in the corner of the room._

_"I had another look earlier. I can't believe Dumbledore didn't destroy that book when he removed it from the Restricted section of the library."_

_"The damage was already done. Tom Riddle already knew enough to be dangerous. What he did was take it out of circulation."_

_"I can't believe you're defending him!"_

_"I'm not defending him, I'm defending…the book. It's a **book** Harry."_

_Harry shook his head, they had had the same argument many times in the past and agreed to disagree._

_"Help yourself, I'm going to make tea."_

_"Thanks Harry," Hermione replied softly as he brushed past her. _

_He smiled weakly in return, pulling the door to behind himself. Hermione wasted no time in moving to the pensieve and grasping both hands securely around the rim of the font-like bowl. Her reflection stared back at her, broken by eddies and ripples disturbing the silvery surface of the liquid. She leaned closer, waiting for the tipping point to take hold of her mind and drag her under, into the living memory of Professor Snape, seconds before he thought he was going to die._

A/N What do you mean which book? lol. Friday-Ad is the UK equivalent of Craigslist. TLC-tender loving care. Next chapter will be what's in the pensieve – this was getting too big and I had to chop…sorry :( JK Rowling owns all Harry Potter references and devices. I own a vicarious love for camper vans.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hermione tried to steady her breathing and clear her mind. The white noise that rose and fell around herself and Harry when they were in the same room together drifted away with him, she pushed its name away….parseltongue. The look Ginny gave her, just before she left, suggested that she knew, or at the very least suspected._

_The shining surface of the pensieve dipped in the centre, liquid swirled around the void, circling faster. Hermione closed her eyes and let herself go, drowned in grey and black and flecks of red behind her eyelids. She could still feel her hands gripping the cold stone, right down to the grainy texture of the surface. What she could see, when she opened her eyes, was not Ginny's room._

_The scene steadily resolved around her. Blurred edges sharpened into frames and features, grey tones took on their proper colors. Familiar portraits and furniture from Professor Dumbledore's study at Hogwarts filled her vision. She took a moment to revel in the distinctive atmosphere, created not so much by the contents as the occupant. A solid knee-hole desk was weighed down by precarious pyramids of parchment rolls, the high-backed swivel chair behind it was empty. In an alcove, near a stained glass window depicting a three masted rigger in high seas, were a collection of individuals, deep in discourse._

_Professor Trelawney, in her brightly colored garments and enormous spectacles was passing a wooden box filled with glass spheres from one hand to the other. The baubles rattled and Hermione could see that whilst six would have held them all in place, there were only five in the box. The sixth was being shuttled between the hands of Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. Snapes tone was dismissive._

_"For every mystery that shows he is back, I can show you a full dozen that show he is not."_

_Dumbledore's thoughtful musing cut through dissent like a knife through butter._

_"The question is not whether evil has returned, but how to prevent his servant perpetrating a foul deed upon one of our students." Dumbledore paused for effect. "My student," he amended with emphasis. Dumbledore regarded Snape languidly, "we keep them safe for the future, and they, in their turn, will keep the future safe," he finished cryptically._

_"Death cannot be undone."_

_"Death may be put off, if the target is obscured, remember your fables Severus," Dumbledore admonished, his tone was serious, but there was a teasing twinkle in his eye. Dumbledore paused in front of a full height bookcase with glass doors, and summoned a leather bound edition which had seen better days._

_Severus took in the title of the book warily, his shocked words held a hint of horror._

_"This is highly irregular Headmaster. You are suggesting using the contents of The Secrets of the Darkest Arts? They are not poorly named."_

_"These are highly irregular times."_

_"Think of the consequences!"_

_"Good __**must**__ prevail, Severus."_

_"A horcrux is an offence against nature itself."_

_"I am told, the same was said of the first Muggle doctors performing their first organ transplant. A horcrux in itself is not evil, the evil is in the long term effects of separation. In any event, I have a variant in mind."_

_Hermione followed Dumbledore as he took to pacing, a glass sphere filled one hand and he tossed it lightly into the air with each step. She stopped when she reached the corner of the room, as she always did. There was a fourth person there, with his back to her. The shadows were deeper here, masking his outline and standard student body uniform. His height and stance gave him away though, steady and in grave thought. Cedric. Conversation carried on behind her. Hermione waited, he would turn to face the group in 3…._

_"There is even a Muggle tale of a pirate, who kept himself safe from danger by storing a vital organ elsewhere. He was able to part with it after his lady love was parted from him, a tragedy." Dumbledore continued. "They have such promise, truly they would be an unstoppable force together if he had the luxury of time to wait for her."_

_ Snape took a deep breath._

_"She has other options."_

_"Your path is different, as you well know."_

_"You mistake me. Krum is her partner for the Ball"_

_"Of course."_

_"I live in fear of her discovering me. Of all of the students, she is quite the most…persistent"_

_"Quite."_

_"If she had the slightest idea, she could ruin everything we have put in play."_

_"I hear what you say." Dumbledore paused in his motion, regarding his colleague soulfully. "I am indebted to you for the risks you take for all our sakes, here and elsewhere."_

_The rustling of Professor Snape folding his arms tightly marked a second passing_

_2…_

_"Protocols must be met, the proper order of things must be preserved. There must be a murder."_

_"In a true horcrux, certainly, in this version, merely a untimely death." Dumbledore interjected mildly. "Fawkes has agreed."_

_"The 'organ' will need a repository."_

_"I have something in mind." _

_"Redemption or reunion comes by remorse, true remorse, even then it is only theoretical. You could be condemning him to purgatory for all time - or worse, unleashing a second abomination on the world."_

_"I will not live to see it," Dumbledore muttered sadly, "but you, you my good friend will see him safe and me with it. I hope I have chosen well, his character is beyond question. Only the Maze will truly test him, in the condition he must enter it in, even then I am confident he will surpass all expectations."_

_1…._

_The figure in the shadows jerked as if from a dream, Hermione held her breath as Cedric turned and strode confidently towards the group of Professors. She caught a glimpse of his strong profile and used it to reinforce her own memories of the certainty and trust he brought to any situation. Cedric's low voice was guarded, but earnest. There was no shred of doubt in it, that what he was doing was right._

_"Shall we begin?"_

_The scene freeze-framed. Harsh stone grated under Hermione's fingernails as a narrow slot appeared in one of the stones making up the top of the pensieve. Seconds later the floor tilted away from her and she staggered, she was coming up, out of the pensieve before she was ready. It happened every time – she never got to see what actually happened next._

_"Hermione? Hermione!" Ron's worried voice dragged her back to the present._

_"It's nothing, dizzy that's all." Hermione clung on to the coping stones at the top of the pensieve for dear life. When she dared to loosen her grip, the stones looked the same as always, butted end to end, too close for anything to slip between them. Ron stood awkwardly off to one side, both hands braced to catch her if she fell._

_"Harry said you were up here with that thing."_

_"I wanted to see…"_

_"Snape again?"_

_"Yes." And someone else._

_Ron grunted and tried crossing his arms, before thinking better of it._

_"Get anything new?"_

_"I have to look up a Muggle pirate story. Does your Dad have any Muggle books in his library?"_

_"Dunno, probably." Ron shrugged._

_Hermione dusted her hands off and pulled a small tarpaulin across the top of the pensieve. Ron shifted uneasily._

_"Um, Mum said since you're living here, she'd like to add you to the clock in the kitchen."_

_Ron held out a small object that looked like a wooden spoon with a hole punched in the handle at the far end. His other hand was out of view, hidden behind his back._

_"I thought that was family only?"_

_Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. Hermione's heart sank, then started to pound. She wondered if Harry was already 'in' the clock and kicked herself for not checking when she arrived. Family magic was about as strong as magic got. She put her hands on her hips._

_"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare ask me to marry you, so your Mother can add me to her clock!"_

_Ron let his hand drop abruptly._

_"Right, sorry. No, course not. It would be handy to know you were ok, that's all."_

_"Rooon," Hermione drawled out. "Of course, I'm ok."_

_"I've heard some stuff, about the Ministry, the bit where you're going I mean. I'd just like to know, in case you ever needed help that's all."_

_Hermione squinted at him, the hand behind his back had made it to his pants pocket, successfully hiding whatever it was holding. Slowly and deliberately it was reappearing, holding his wand._

_"What have you heard? What are you…?"_

_"Obliviate!"_

_Hermione saw stars and put a hand to her head._

_"You shouldn't spend so long in the pensieve you know?" Ron's voice held a touch of admonishment and a heap of irritation. "Dad says it can mess with your head."_

_Hermione sighed. "I can't help feeling I'm missing something." _

_She went to put the cover back on the device, only to find that the top was already in place._

_"I've done it already. You watched me do it? Now, what was it you wanted out of Dad's library? Something about a pirate?"_

_Hermione blinked hard. Prickly waves rippled across her scalp, making her hair feel static. "That feels like magical discharge – can you feel it?"_

_"Nope. Nothing."_

_Hermione sighed. "C'mon, you can help me look."_

_"Oh, okaaaay."_

_She led the way out of Ginny's room. Ron paused to look around before following her. His eyes settled on a hairbrush and darted to Hermione's retreating back. Reluctantly he followed, adding a desultory commentary._

_"Wild goose chase if you ask me. You saw his body, Hermione. Deader than a door nail, even Madam Pomfrey said he was toast."_

_Hermione turned abruptly on the stairs and hissed crossly. Inside she died a little, everything he said after all, was true. She had seen and heard it for herself._

_"Stop it, Ron! If you don't want to help, just say so."_

_Ron glared down at her._

_"Just saying how it is," he said stoically. "I don't want you to get your hopes up."_

_Hermione stared back at him. She had made no secret of her admiration for Cedric, she just hadn't thought that Ron had picked up on it._

_Ron's last words were cynical, she tipped it with guilt herself and let it hit home. Ron was always there for her, it wasn't his fault she didn't ask, or come to that, need him, he simply…was._

_"Some of us are alive you know?"_

_She turned her back on him. There was nothing to say, that hadn't already been said._


	9. Chapter 9

A/N JK Rowling created these characters, the rest of it came from an overactive imagination.

Hermione grabbed her bag and pushed the driver's side door wide.

"This is the front door," Ron commented uselessly.

"I'm visiting, I don't live here any more, remember? Besides, the driveway around back is too narrow to turn around in."

Ron gave a non-committal grunt. Crookshanks landed precisely at Hermione's feet and sauntered off in the direction of the house.

"There's no way you drove that all the way down here. It would have taken 3 hours at least."

Hermione rolled her eyes in the dark, the LittleMissSqueaky fan club was alive and well and gnarly. She thought she must have interrupted dessert.

"You didn't do anything stupid did you? I know Dad got you a permit for that thing to get it back here when you first got it, but he's not going to be happy if you got sighted doing a ton in the fast lane."

Hermione slammed the door shut and chuckled at the thought, before sharing the information that made the idea so funny.

"Ron, don't worry. It will barely clock 80mph, and that's going downhill with a following wind. It doesn't fly. There's nothing magical about it now the mechanics are sound."

Except there was. There was the feeling that trundling along, with the road noise and the draughts, that all was right with the world, even in as short a distance as the driveway. It was the feel of the thing, something the previous owner had tried to explain, about the journey being more important than the destination. Her thoughts snagged on the part in the conversation about finding what he was looking for on his doorstep after seeing everywhere else along the way and she swallowed hard, remembering.

Ron interrupted her thoughts.

"You've been different, ever since you got that thing."

Hermione slid back in her mind to complete her memory. What had he called it? - The perfect bubble of self, while the rest of the world went about its business. Then he had tried to show her and the perfect moment had exploded in both of their faces. Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair. She _was_ different, in a way. She knew…things. She took her feelings out on Ron.

"I've been different ever since you decided to start making my decisions for me. I took the Knight Bus," she snapped. "It's not like you didn't know I was perfectly fine."

Ron reeled at the change of tone. He turned sideways to let her pass with more distance between them.

"All right, all right, keep your hair on.

Ron followed a step behind. His voice got steadily more plaintive.

"Mum plated your dinner. Are you eating here? We could sit and talk for a bit? We could even talk about work if you like?"

Hermione turned so fast Ron almost bumped into her. He took an enormous step backwards, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Sorry, sorry! You need brake lights or turning signals or something."

Both his hands scrubbed over his hair, he left them in full view. It looked almost as if he was holding them up for inspection, to show they were empty.

Hermione studied the shape that was Ron by the light of the porch. He had grown up a lot in the last year. It was a shame in some ways that it hadn't happened earlier. It was a shame the start of it had been so brutal, their separation in many ways still felt raw.

He was attractive in a sort of homey, roomy sweater sort of way and he retained enough boyish stupidity that he'd make some little tyke a spectacular dad. Ron had finally grown into the width of his shoulders, everything about his outline shouted solid and dependable. He'd be the dad in the park, sitting with a handful of other people's kids at the top of the climbing frame while other parents sat around like adults, passing the time by chatting on benches.

He could probably pick her up and chuck her over one shoulder if he wanted to, not that he'd dare. Not even in fun. Not since she found out what he was doing. They danced around each other these days, two wounded souls, tenuously joined by the love of a third.

She moderated her tone and turned away.

"Is Charlie here yet? I need to talk to him."

"About half an hour away give or take. Dad said."

Ron stayed outside the porch until he was sure she was safely inside and out of earshot.

"What am I, fucking invisible?"

He plonked himself down on a bench seat tucked just inside the porch, the back of his head hit the inner porch with a loud thunk and he sighed in irritation. He was surprised when Crookshanks hopped up to join him.

"'Ello mate."

There were no discernibly male or female characteristics on the creature, even if there had been, Familiars are, by their very nature, intensely loyal. He ran a hand over Crookshanks' fur and the Kneazle arched his back, settling one paw deliberately on his thigh in what appeared to be the feline version of male solidarity.

"I said I was sorry," Ron grumped. "What does she want, blood?"

Crookshanks replied by flicking his ears backwards and surgically inserting a razor sharp claw into the meat of Ron's thigh.

0.0

_Ron brushed past Hermione at the foot of the stairs and led the way down a winding corridor. The door to Mr Weasley's study was cracked open. Ron knocked once and stuck his head around the door._

_"Huh, left it open. C'mon, he won't mind."_

_Hermione followed in Ron's footsteps, she had a feeling that if she looked, she would find Mr Weasley still poring over the Friday-Ad. Possibly in search of items required in the pursuit of keeping llamas._

_Ron stopped in the middle of the room, it was 'L' shaped, with the short jut of the toe formed by a book filled alcove. Drawn by the ordered rows and many colored bindings, Hermione drifted forwards._

_"Careful Herm, that came out of a Great House in Cheshire. It was owned by a Sea-Captain, I think."_

_Hermione cocked her head in query._

_"Dad has a nasty habit of collecting odds and sods from his work with Muggle artefacts made magical. Here, you'll need this."_

_Ron collected a longish strap and buckle, attached to a coil of thin rope, from beside the fireplace. In the center of the mantelpiece was a miniature of a three masted rigger in a glass bottle, mounted on a gimbal. The butt of the bottle was tipped down, the ships sails were neatly furled and the hull rested comfortably on a sandy berth. Hermione frowned when it caught her eye, the ship looked oddly familiar. _

_"Um?" Ron's soft query snapped her back to the present. He was standing off to one side gingerly holding the strap. "The shelves bend back on themselves, you could be lost in there for days if you're not careful."_

_She raised her hands out of the way while Ron made short work of fastening the strap around her middle like a belt. Hermione watched Ron's hands shake while he tried to work out how tight to draw it before she huffed in exasperation and took the task off him. She drew it in two notches tighter than he had dared._

_"Happy?" she asked with one eye brow raised._

_Ron took in the pinch of her tiny waist, making her figure an impossibly attractive hour-glass and choked on his reply. He paid out some line and nodded towards the shelves, not trusting himself to speak. Concern twisted him inside out, he should have put the belt around himself and gone in, except he didn't know what the hell she was looking for. Muggle anything was pretty much a foreign language, he didn't share his Dad's fascination with it, yet in some ways felt that he should, for Hermione's sake._

_Ron breathed deep, steadying breaths while Hermione completed the short distance to the shelves. He watched her run her fingers lovingly over the spines of the books at waist height, tugging one bound in water-stained leather loose. _

_"Found it, I think. Fishermen's Tales for Children. Davy Jones Locker, Legend of the White Seal, Mermaids. Hah, they don't look like that for a start! Here's something, The Dutchman's Love – it says the Sea-Captain set sail, leaving his heart, urgh, in a locked box with his Lady Love on the advice of a Sea-Witch who said he would die before the full moon. When his ghost was reunited with his heart, he would be made human again. Really?" Hermione pulled a face and continued, "the ghost of the Dutchman did return, only to find the chest missing and his Lady Love in the arms of another. Huh, the path of true love and all that..."_

_Behind Ron, turquoise liquid flooded inside the neck and shoulders of the bottle on the mantle, filling at a dizzying rate. The prow of the ship began to lift as the jib was raised and the sails were let down on the fore mast._

_"Was that what they were trying to do?" Hermione mused, a thin ribbon of water edged towards her feet._

_"What was who trying to do?"_

_"They were trying to make a version of a horcrux!"_

_"Who?"_

_"Dumbledore and Snape, Trelawney was there too, in Dumbledore's study, the day before the final test in the Tri-wizard Tournament."_

_"You have got to be kidding me." Ron voiced his disbelief. "Dumbledore would never do that!"_

_Hermione tapped her foot and turned over the page, she wasn't so sure. On the mantle, turquoise liquid had fully flooded the little bottle and splashed beneath the ship, sails had broken out on the main and aft masts and bellied out under a stiff breeze. The liquid looked flecked with foam and within it, something dark sidled under the ship's hull._

_Thin, black, whippy arms covered in suckers burst from the sea beneath the ship and lashed over the deck, dragging the bow of the ship down towards the roiling waves._

_Hermione's toe splashed in half an inch of water. She looked down in surprise, then up at Ron and behind him, to the dark, in the blue of the liquid in the ship in the bottle. Hermione moved to the edge of the alcove and stopped abruptly, finding she could go no further. Water rose, up the sides of her sneakers and slopped inside, freezing against her skin and making her gasp. She snapped the book shut and held it out of the way of the splashing water._

_"Ron? Did you say Sea-Captain?"_

_"Huh? Yeah, think so. Dad mentioned it once, can't remember which one. Is that water?"_

_"Yes!"_

_Hermione shoved at an unseen barrier._

_"Ron! I can't get out."_

_Ron tugged futilely on the rope. Cold water rose to Hermione's knees and with a dashing wave, to mid-thigh. Hermione shrieked. _

_"Ron!"_

_"Put the book back!"_

_"What?"_

_"The book, I said put it back!"_

_Hermione stumbled backwards, fighting to move quickly against the swirling water and not lose her footing. The slot it had come from was already below the water line and the books either side had half shifted into the void it had left behind. Waves smashed against one another, throwing spray into her eyes and nose. She wrestled the book back into place and shoved it home. _

_The bottle on the gimbal tipped neck down, with a soft 'tink'. The tiny kraken loosed its hold and the tentacles dropped back into the colorful liquid, which itself began to drain away as quickly as it had arrived._

_Hermione's feet went out from under her as the water around her legs burst out across the carpet, not as water, but as pale grey grains of sand. _

_Ron hurried over, looping the rope as he went. He dragged Hermione to her feet, patting and brushing at her where sand was stuck to her damp clothes._

_"I'm all right," she complained, eventually batting his hands away and unsnapping the buckle, but letting him hug her for his own relief. She pushed him away when he tried sweeping the sand off her behind._

_"I can manage, Ron. Honestly, I'm fine." _

_Ron didn't look remotely convinced._

_"Listen, I'm going to go and change. Can you find your Dad? We need to pop down to the telephone box in the village."_

_"Telephone box?"_

_Hermione thought about telling Ron about her find in the Friday-Ad and decided against trying to explain it, determining instead to cross that bridge if she actually got it._

_"Telephone box. You can come if you want, your Dad wants to see how it works."_

_Ron gave a great sigh and slouched off in the direction of the kitchen. Hermione heard the back door slam and Molly's distinctive voice calling for Arthur Weasley's attention._

_"There's magic gone wrong in those supermarket things you know, I've been hours. I only went in to get some broccoli for supper and I've come out with two bottles of wine and some bed socks."_

_Mr Weasley's reply was too low to hear properly, but Molly's wasn't._

_"No! You cannot have the bedsocks!"_

A/N Doing a ton refers to driving at 100mph. The highest speed limit in the UK is on a motorway and 70mph.

Cats are frequently cruel for their own amusement.

There are thousands of sea-farer tales, I have picked a little of everything for The Dutchman's Love, most notably The Flying Dutchman which dates from the 1800's, (Wiki has a fascinating account of how a ghost ship might be 'seen' by light bending strangely in atmospheric conditions) and made famous more recently by the Jack Sparrow films.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N I couldn't fit it all in (twss) and I'd hate it break the next flashback into smaller pieces.

Hermione hung her bag over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it carefully over the top and rested her hands on either side where the knobbly bits of the chair back stuck up. The clock ticked in an irritating sequence that made it impossible to ignore, one soft tick, one loud; every now and again, it missed a tick altogether. Hermione refused to look at it.

On the stove top, a pair of saucepans quietly bubbled away, each with the edge of a plate poking out from under the lids; steam drifted gently above them. Opposite the stove, the washing-up finished itself off, noisily clattering cutlery into a strainer.

Molly breezed in.

"Help yourself dear, it's all ready."

"Um, is the other one for Charlie?"

"Yes, if he wants it. I never know if he's eaten or not when he comes, but it never hurts to feed a man. It'll be nice to see him." Molly bustled about, very busily doing nothing very much at all.

"I was hoping for a word with him."

Molly checked the clock on the wall. The hand with Charlie's face on it swung in a steady arc from 'Travelling' to 'Home.' Outside, the low hum of male voices got closer.

"I'd lay claim to a plate if I were you." There was a moments awkward silence. "Did Ron talk to you when you came in?"

"Yes. He's trying, but I can't…" _help snapping at him,_ she thought to herself. Hermione sighed distractedly, "I know he's sorry."

Hermione looked around the cosy space of the kitchen. She had always been made to feel welcome here, once the initial misunderstanding generated by Rita Skeeta's lies so many years ago had been straightened out. Molly treated her like an extra daughter most of the time and recently, since _the _incident, more like an equal. Molly's matter-of-fact tone would have taken her by surprise at one time.

"And so he is, but a Wizard has no business mixing with Witches business. He should have known better and knows it now. That clock has been passed from Witch to Witch for as long as anyone can remember, it's not a lesson he'll need teaching twice."

Hermione glanced up, Molly had folded her arms and was leaning against the sink. Molly nodded sharply, to show that she understood – that repairing a breach of trust takes time, even when both parties show willing.

The inner door to the kitchen slammed open and Charlie stomped his way inside, Molly pushed herself off the edge of the sink and was smothered in a bone crushing hug by her second eldest son. Charlie was heavy set and not much taller than Hermione. His bluff good nature had been tempered by the War, but he retained an emotional openness that Hermione envied. He had explained once that animals didn't take kindly to a human's mood swings and dragons in particular were far better equipped to bite a blokes head off than any woman he ever met so far, with the possible exception of his Mother. Hermione wondered why he had never married, he was so _humane._

Muffled greetings were exchanged between Mother and son, and Hermione made herself useful, doing her best not to feel like a third wheel. She made her way over to the stove, the saucepan lids on both dishes rose and settled themselves off to one side and Hermione guided the plates through the air to the table with the wave of one hand.

"Good to see you too Hermione!" Charlie's deep voice announced with plenty of warning that he was heading her way. Hermione turned to greet him and was herself enveloped in a firm, but gentle hug, which she returned with a brief clasp of her own - this seemed to have the effect of encouraging his embrace to linger. She and Charlie had always got on, before Hermione could say hello though, Ron's morose tones rang out from the doorway.

"Well that's just bloody brilliant."

The door slammed shut in his face. Molly made herself scarce without a word, but headed in the direction of the slammed door with Ron behind it. Charlie waited for his Mother to leave the room.

"Moody little squirt," Charlie's hushed tones warmed Hermione's ear and came with an extra squeeze. She hadn't realised she was leaning in until he released her and stepped back.

"I heard," he said, dragging a chair from under the table and pulling the one next door crooked in invitation.

"Sit. Eat." He had a fully loaded fork halfway to his mouth before she had pulled the chair far enough out to seat herself. "Quick and the hungry," he half apologized. Hermione waved him to continue.

"I'm glad you're here. Do you remember the story you told me about a _Draeke_ a while back?"

Charlie grunted his assent. Hermione picked at a roasted parsnip.

"What happened to her?"

Charlie moved food into one bulging cheek to answer. "She was rehabilitated and released back into the wild. Last I heard anyway, why?"

"Where was she rescued from originally – was it near here I mean?"

Charlie set his utensils down and sat back. His fingers traced the wood grain on the table top.

"Are you asking in an official capacity?"

"Would that make a difference?"

Charlie waved a hand airily, "clearance, need to know."

"I am Undersecretary," Hermione said calmly.

"Quite the political ladder wrangler, how are the dizzy heights of Undersecretaryness?" Charlie teased with a smile. "I'd still have to check," he said seriously.

"I'm like what I do Charlie. People are good at what they like, you know, it's whatever the opposite of a vicious circle is. As for the other thing, unofficially then. She waited with baited breath. Charlie gave her a wide grin, "Hermione Granger, breaking the rules? You're different, in a good way."

She busied herself with her fork and the rapidly cooling supper, rather than stare him down. He might see something she didn't want to share.

"So was it?" she prompted, talking to a piece of carrot impaled on the tines of her fork.

Charlie chased the last of the peas in gravy around his plate and onto the blade of his knife.

"Hmm," he hummed. Hermione took it as a 'yes.'

0.0

_Ron waited patiently for Hermione and his Father to leave the house. He stood idly by until they had cleared his line of sight and no sooner had he shut the door behind them than he was taking the stairs two at a time to the attic room Hermione called home. He let himself in quietly, sidled over to the dressing table and snatched up Hermione's hairbrush. Hair after hair he pulled from the brush, inspecting them minutely, until he found what he was looking for – a hair with the tell-tale shape one end that showed the root was still attached. He wound it carefully around a spoon shaped device, weaving the ends in until the hair would stay in contact with the spoon all by itself and set it down._

_A dog eared piece of parchment with hurried scribbles joined it. He smoothed it out, skimming the hasty list with a bitten fingernail._

_A loving heart, Ron unconsciously rubbed his sternum. A living cell, he glanced at the hair wound around the clock hand. It wasn't as good as blood, but it would have to do. A witch's spell._

_A witch's spell he repeated to himself and shrugged. Probably didn't matter who said it. The important thing was that the clock would let him know that Hermione was safe. They, the Weasleys all just __**knew**__ each other were all right. Ron felt like he had lived with a red hot poker through his stomach ever since the night of the Yule ball, when he had seen her in __**that**__ dress and realized his feelings were not entirely platonic, worse, that he had no idea what to do about them. _

_He pictured her look of disbelief, twice now, when he had tried and failed to express himself. The first 'obliviate' had been a spur of the moment thing. Rejection hurt, but he felt physically sick at the thought she might spurn his friendship altogether. The second one had been deliberate, he was going to do **this** with or without her. He told himself it was for her own benefit. The almost lie caught in his throat and he swallowed it down, turning his attention back to the parchment._

_ There had been more he hadn't bothered to copy from the great ledger in his Mother's study. He made sure that he had got the right section after all, the bit about adding a non-family member. There was a short passage about removing people from the clock too, but seemed to mostly apply to dead people, so he had skipped over that part. The funny thing was, out of all the pages, it was the only one with the corner turned down, like someone felt they might need to go back to it in a hurry. It was odd because his Mother held the same reverence for books that Hermione had._

_Ron checked the lettering of the spell again and repeated it in his head. He pushed his sleeves back and dragged his wand from his back pocket._

_"Here goes nothing."_

_His Mother's voice calling up the stairs stopped him dead._

_"Ron? Ron!"_

_Ron swiftly folded the spoon in the tatty parchment and stuffed it in his pocket._

_"Coming."_

_0.0_

_Hermione walked Mr Weasley through the steps of using a telephone box, but drew the line at him actually being in the box with her when she made the call. She pushed the torn piece of the Friday-Ad around the metal tray that served as a shelf of sorts and waited for the ringing tone to turn into something more interesting. Eventually, there were a series of clicks and a male voice answered that made the hair on back of Hermione's neck stand up._

_"Hallo?"_

_"Hi, I'm calling about the Ad? The Friday-Ad, I mean the Ad in the Friday-Ad, about the camper van?"_

_There was a stunned silence and then a chuckle._

_"Hi, wow sorry, deja-vu moment there. Great ok, well do you want to come and see it?_

_His voice coated her senses in hot oil and filled her lungs with glue. Hermione's voice sounded breathless to her own ears._

_"Yes?" No, she thought, I'd buy on the strength of the ad, if it meant never disapparating again, and I __**know**__ you. Except you're supposed to be dead._

_"Is tomorrow good for you?"_

_Hermione choked a quick 'yes' and scribbled down the address, racking her brains for something to keep him on the line. _

_"Ok then, ask for Rick."_

_"Rick? Is that short for something?"_

_"Do I know you?" He gave a short bark of laughter, "this better not be a wind-up."_

_"Not, no! Definitely not a wind-up. Can I ask why you're selling it?"_

_The receiver blurted a peep-peep noise and Hermione scrambled for more Muggle coins, but came up empty. She held the hand piece to her chest when the tone skipped into a steady drone, indicating that the person on the other line had hung up and swore quietly. Belatedly she realized she hadn't even asked if the camper van was running or not._


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Techinical difficulties stopped play. All better now.

The clock gave one of its silent ticks. Hermione looked up before she could stop herself. The clock continued its pregnant pause while she narrowed her eyes at the collection of Weasley faces clustered around the marker for 'Home.' She scowled at her own face on a lone hand, turned almost entirely into the workings of the clock, away from the room, under the denomination 'Visiting.'

Charlie pinched her lightly behind her kneecap and left his huge hand resting on her knee. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he smiled wolfishly at her.

"He had no right to do that, but I can see why he wanted to. I wouldn't mind knowing where you were at all times either, you know?" His eyebrows lifted rakishly before he broke into his trademark wide smile. She smiled in spite of herself and squeezed his hand with her own, inspecting his broad open face. His freckled skin showed the effects of being out in all weathers and lines around his mouth and eyes held the heavy etch of a frequent smile. The creases deepened as he watched her watching him. He turned his hand over, under hers, leaving her finger tips resting on the pulse at his wrist…._tick._

Hermione snatched her hand away and shoved her plate half way across the table. Charlie's good natured smile never faltered. His voice was completely at odds with the benign interest on his face and followed her as she rose unsteadily.

"Whatever you are doing, or thinking of doing, be careful, ok?"

"Like looking for a dragon that isn't supposed to be there?" _Like looking for someone who is supposed to be a corpse?_ An odd thought struck her, the idea that somehow the two might be linked. There was a vague pull to see the pensieve again.

"Like Ron and the clock, I don't think you know what you're dealing with.

"And you do?"

His smile never faltered and his answer left her more curious than ever. He nodded once towards the clock.

"Be smart, do your homework. You know where I am when you need me."

He left her at the table, waved his dirty plate away to plop itself into the soapy water at the sink and ambled out.

0.0

_Hermione stumbled out the telephone box, still clutching the torn piece of paper with the picture of a VW camper van at the top and a telephone number at the bottom. Mr Weasley gave her a bright look._

_"Everything all right then?"_

_"Yes, well no, not quite."_

_"It did work though didn't it? Brrinng, brrinng?" Mr Weasley made a ridiculous ringing noise enthusiastically and held his thumb and pinkie finger up to his ear. He thrust his head forward slightly with the next question. _

_"What did they say?"_

_"Oh yes, the telephone call was no problem. Um, he said come and see it. The thing is that I'm not sure that the van is working, I sort of forgot to ask," she confessed._

_"Ring them again!" said Mr Weasley beaming, "I'll press the buttons!"_

_"I think I would like to go and see it anyway," hedged Hermione. "Tomorrow, about 10:00am."_

_Mr Weasley looked at her expectantly. Hermione inwardly cringed, it was clear that he wanted to come with her to see it. She was equally clear, that was definitely not what she wanted to happen, but she might need him, or something from him at least. She bit the bullet and asked the million dollar question._

_"If it's __**not**__ working, how bad would it be if I __**got**__ it working," she waggled her fingers meaningfully._

_"Ah."_

_"I'm not talking about hovering, or flying or anything like that," she clarified immediately. "It might need a little something to get it going. If it's not working." She refused to consider the option that it might be a rusty bucket of bolts and the only way she would be able to drive it away would be to make some drastic alterations and 'obliviate' the owner. _

_The owner…her shoulders twitched and her mouth went dry, then she shook her head at the ridiculous notion that the owner of a random camper van, in a random advert might be a dead magical student from a Tri-wizard tournament years ago._

_"I could arrange a permit, I suppose," pondered Mr Weasley. His face brightened, "yes, I have just the thing. It would have to be issued in conjunction with a summoning spell, to The Burrow say, for control purposes." He peered down at her thoughtfully, "can you actually drive?"_

_Hermione nodded absently, she was trying to remember the details of her last encounter with the pensieve and finding them indistinct, fuzzy almost, around the edges. The basics were all there, stained glass window, assembled company, conversation…and Cedric…and tilt. Obliviate… obliviate…. Ron. A prickle of indignation took up residence in her stomach when she remembered the sense of magical discharge. If…if he had dared…she was going to string him up by his thumbs._

_"What? Yes. Ron never understood why I bothered, but it's useful to look Muggle sometimes, especially with new cases – for work." She glanced up, to see if Mr Weasley understood, which was more than his son had at the time. Mr Weasley was nodding in agreement._

_"Amazing! Right! I'll get one set up for tomorrow right away. See you back at home!"_

_Mr Weasley glanced around and with a sharp snapping noise, disapparated on the spot. Hermione considered it, checked the sky for rain with a wary eye and spun on her heel in the direction of The Burrow. She set off on foot at quite a clip, mulling over her recent interactions with Ron, trying hard to give him the benefit of doubt. The closer to The Burrow she got, the less he had._


	12. Chapter 12

_Ron sat in the porch, bundled up against the rapidly cooling evening air. It was almost dark and Hermione wasn't back yet, but his Dad had just appeared by Floo from the Ministry flapping a piece of parchment with the ink still wet. And no, he didn't know where Hermione was and wasn't she here? Ron rubbed his stomach, he was starting to have 'a bad feeling' starting with the idea that something might have happened to her on the way back and he simply wouldn't know._

_It was bad enough that she was going into the Ministry in an area that was notorious for returning its incumbents in pieces. He had only just heard from Charlie about some poor bugger admitted to St Mungos after a run in with a Draeke of all things. Hermione had said second assistant to the Undersecretary for Care of Magical Creatures as a post was too lowly for fieldwork, but he was dead certain she would rise once they realized how capable she was….and that was without the 'dead mans shoes' effect._

_Although he refused to directly admit it to himself, there was also the possibility that she had seen his wand just before the last 'obliviate' incident. Not to mention her comment on magical discharge after she came round, in his heart of hearts though, he knew there was a better than good chance he would get rumbled for something that he had done and couldn't change. Pre-emptive guilt had gnawed his fingernails to the quick. He __**worried**__ about her, not because she couldn't look after herself, but because she was her and however much she pushed him away he couldn't bring himself to go. His train of thoughts ended with the vague dissatisfaction that Hermione hadn't thought to tell him about a stupid piece of Muggle transportation or that she had plans tomorrow, even though he hadn't seen her since the call from the Telephone Box and he only knew about it because of his Dad._

_Glumly he tossed his wand end over end and caught it one handed. The business end unerringly pointed itself at his gut as if to say, 'you've had it.' Crookshanks patrolled the outside edge of the porch, staring off into the darkening stretch of drive and keeping him company of sorts, or keeping him in, one of the two. He thought about trying to find her, but there were any number of ways for a Witch to travel and any number of roads she could be on. Not for the first time, in the face of trying to get a handle on Hermione, he felt completely incapable of forming a cogent plan of action to get him where he wanted to be, namely higher up in Hermione's graces so that a quiet snog might not be out of the question. They never seemed to have a moment together that might lead to __**that**__ moment._

_"What's she up to?"_

_Crookshanks spared him a disinterested glance._

_"I mean, I could help right? With whatever? That's what friends do." He rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what her face would look like when he kissed her for the first time. If he did. If she would let him get his face close enough without smacking it away thinking he was going to lick her or something. Thinking about it just made him feel more miserable and hot around the belly button and restless in the pants department. He groaned irritably into the space between his knees. _

_The Kneazle sidled closer and wiped his side along Ron's lower leg. Ron leant down to stroke its back and catch at its tail, dragging an almost closed hand over the silky striped fur. Crookshanks whipped his tail away and sank claws and fangs into the exposed wrist and hand. Ron whined in pain and tried to flick his hand free, wincing as the red hot pokers sank deeper in. Out in the dark, rapidly shortening the distance between it and the house, a small blue light illuminated brisk sneakers eating up the driveway._

_"Fuck mate, I was only trying to be friendly." _

_Crookshanks hissed through a mouthful of Ron and let go suddenly, dropping to the ground like an furry koosh ball and trotted off to meet the approaching light. Crookshanks' tail curved at the tip and looked nothing less than a large furry question mark, before disappearing completely into the dark. He reappeared, shepherding Hermione into the halo of light from the porch, darting one side and then the other, annotating the movements with emphatic 'merp' noises from time to time. Ron studied the Kneazle, he wasn't the only one a bit worried about where she had got to. He took a deep breath. What he was going to do was for the right reasons, he convinced himself, if he go the charm right to hide the hand on the clock, maybe she would never know. And with that decision he set a rift in motion, had he but known it._

_Silence ate up his words and spit them back at him._

_"Friends, Ronald Bilius Weasley, do not use magic on their friends for their own purposes. Lumos Maxima!"_

_Brilliant light expoded inside the porch. Ron cringed away from the brightness at the end of Hermione's wand. The light was so brightly white, it made everything in the porch look pale blue._

_"Hermione," Ron started, half rising. "I was beginning to get worried."_

_"I'll give you worried. Worried about how long I would take to work it out more like! I bet you were. What did you think you were doing?"_

_Ron took one look at what he could see of her face, shadows carved it with fury like an avenging angel and cast all thoughts of denial out of his head. She had the advantage of height, light and years of dedicated book learning that he had only watched with awe. She could pulverise him if she wanted to. It made him feel small and bitter and unmanned. He sat back down on the seat slowly, keeping his wand pointed at the floor. Thoughts raced in circles around his head, how much did she know? And was there any way he could save his measly skin? The chances of preserving their friendship to a point where she would even let him within ten feet of her looked to be vanishing with the daylight, let alone actually getting close enough for a little something else. He loathed himself for craving it. It was her fault, he decided. She had driven him to act. The slimy trail of dread started to curdle his stomach, there was not a snowballs chance in hell that she would accept that as an excuse._

_"Protecting you.." he stuttered._

_"The only thing I need protecting from is you! How many times have you used 'obliviate' on me?"_

_The minute he moved his wand hand minutely, Hermione let rip._

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_His wand sailed out of his hand with a sharp jerk and clattered on the hard flag floor. Crookshanks pounced on it immediately and settled heavily on top of it. One ear twitched in Ron's direction, as if to say, 'come get it, if you dare.'_

_"Herm, I wouldn't-" he wanted to say there was no need for the over reaction, that he had never meant to hurt her, but couldn't get a word in edgeways._

_"You would. You have. I saw you get your wand out after I had seen Snape, then again after the pensieve, but I only remembered it on the walk tonight because the spell is wearing off isn't it? Is that why you are sitting out here waiting for me? To have another go?_

_"I'm protecting you from yourself!" he blurted. "You're obsessed with this stupid conspiracy idea, don't try and deny it. It's mental, you're here, but you're never __**here**__."_

_"The evidence supports…"_

_"There is no evidence Herm, other than what you __**want**__ to see. No-one believes this other than you, and you believe it because you want to."_

_Hermione opened her mouth to deny it, but Ron continued._

_"You never got over the crush you had on Cedric and I'm sick of fighting a ghost. Make no mistake Herm, that's what he is. Dead. Gone."_

_"You're jealous." Hermione said wonderingly._

_"You're delusional and I'd still take what I could get." Ron swallowed loudly. "If you'd have me."_

_Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyelids and took a deep breath to hold them in. Hopelessness washed over her. "It's not that I don't…"_

_"It's just that you don't," Ron finished for her._

_Hermione lowered her wand. "Didn't Trelawney tell you as much?"_

_Ron shook his head, "Trelawney said she saw us together," he set his jaw, he didn't mention that he hadn't thought she meant together-together._

_Hermione set her fists on her hips. "I want you to undo the spells. Now."_

_Ron got unsteadily to his feet, "I'm not sure I can," he said sarcastically. "I only got an 'acceptable' off McGonagall for this sort of thing. And besides, Crookshanks has my wand."_


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione stared blankly at the door Charlie had disappeared through and pondered what was said, but also unsaid between them. She had never felt that he was interested in her as anything more than a slightly awkward addendum to his family. He had never touched her like that before. It was more than a 'I know how you feel' pat on the shoulder, it was more along the lines of you know where I am, when you are 'ready.' Hermione tried to reconcile herself with it, thinking that he was simply trying to make her feel better about Ron's behaviour, but it didn't wash, not entirely anyway.

She thought about what had driven Ron to put her in the clock in the first instance, wondering if it was getting the job at the Ministry or the continual hunt for traces following Cedric's disappearance that had finally made him take the step that split them into two. Not that it mattered, what was done, was done. But the Charlie situation was new and it made her feel uncomfortable in a way that she was not happy with.

She met the problem head on and resolved to have it out with him. Her plate sploshed noisily behind, dropped by a distracted wave into the soapy water where Charlie's own plate lay waiting. She opened the door into the narrow hall.

"Charlie?" Hermione called.

The house was unnaturally still for somewhere usually buzzing with energy and most of all, noise. She poked her head around the door of the sitting room, into the emptiness of the coldstore and briefly into Molly's lair. No-one. A door latched snicked, further down the hall. Hermione glanced towards the door of Mr Weasley's study, seeing a shadow flash and disappear in the bar of light underneath.

She made her way there carefully, daunted by the odd atmosphere. It felt like the house was holding its breath. She thought seriously about drawing her wand, but the war was over. There hadn't been a battle for years now.

"Charlie?" she called again and depressed the handle, pushing the door open slowly and peeking around.

Charlie had his back to her. He was winding the long rope with the strap and buckle on the end around his elbow and up over his shoulder to make large loops.

"There you are," she said.

Charlie spun on his heel, swiftly tossing the coils onto a hooked stand and striding towards her.

"Looking for me?" he said easily, holding out his hand.

She put her hand in his, not sure why other than it felt safe. What she wasn't expecting was the way that his hand swallowed hers and how firm his grip was. He walked her further into the room and backed her up against the edge of the large, littered desk. She tried to sit up on the edge, but he moved too close, between her legs and she ended up bending backwards uncomfortably over it. Unnerved and exposed, she glanced worriedly as his ordinarily kindly face, reaching for his shoulder to balance herself as he guided the hand he held up behind her back, stopping just short of going too far. The position made her chest push out, into his.

"Charlie?"

"Took you long enough," he muttered.

The planes of his face were hard and he stared pointedly at her mouth. When he raised his eyes to hers and she opened her mouth to speak he dropped his mouth to hers. His lips were hot and moved demandingly against hers, before moving to graze along her jawline. Hermione sucked in a huge breath, pushing at his shoulder to try and make him move was like trying to move a mountain with a pin. She gave up and slapped his shoulder hard. His hand on hers, behind her back, tightened almost painfully.

He raised his head, his eyes raked her face and heaving chest, then slowly moved back.

"Let me up, what the hell was that?" she asked fuming.

"You have no idea do you?" he asked softly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'm a patient man, you have to be when you are working with creatures that don't speak the same language, even body language."

"I don't…"

Charlie flicked her under the chin and stood up, pulling her upright with him. He put her hand on his pounding heart.

"Sure you do, you just need to go away and think about it."

He stepped back. "The bawdy tales are very instructive if you're not sure about anything," he said gesturing at the bookcase behind them with his chin. "Not that you need it." He stepped away, towards the door. "You don't need it at all."

She watched his retreating back with her hand at her throat wondering how she had let that happen. She hadn't seen it coming, not really. He left the door open. A small part of her sanity noted that the cuffs of his trousers were wet.

0.0

_Ron risked a step in Crookshanks' direction, the Kneazle growled a low rumble of warning._

_"Tell him," whined Ron._

_Hermione studied her familiar, Crookshanks' ears were angled back, almost flat against his skull and his yellow eye-teeth were clearly visible. If he were capable of human emotion Hermione thought, the look he was giving Ron would best be interpreted by the word 'sneer'. Hermione darted her gaze between Ron and his antagonist, but it wasn't until Crookshanks gave a faint hiss that Hermione made up her mind to Ron's detriment._

_Crookshanks' advice sounded to her ears a lot like '__**don't**__.' Hermione wavered, she and Ron had an awful lot of history between them, but the Kneazle's behavior went above and beyond the usual antagonism between the pair. Disarming a wizard was one thing, keeping a wand from him when hostilities ceased was considered the ultimate infraction of polite magical society. It was __**rude**__._

_"Ron," she said softly, "is there anything…else you want to tell me?"_

_Ron stuck his chin out and said defensively, "I don't know what you mean."_

_Ginny and Harry had felt like the first tiny fissure in what had always been, the unbreakable threesome. This felt like a further crack in what had always been a stable background of unconditional acceptance and support. Ron was her family in so many ways._

_Hermione didn't like the stand-off. She didn't like the atmosphere and most of all, she didn't like the feeling that she might be missing something really important. She could accept relations were fragile with Ron over one subject at least, but it had never been taboo or out of sight between them, but this, this felt like he was deliberately hiding something, and that had never happened before. It went to the very heart of their friendship, that the three of them had always been in everything, together. This was a wedge held tight to the core of their future history, just waiting for the hammer to fall._

_Hermione lost patience. "Crookshanks thinks you're up to something. Last chance Ron, don't be an idiot. If there's a problem, just…just say something and we'll work it out."_

_"That's right, take anyone elses opinion over mine. You always do that! I worry about you," Ron finished weakly, then gave a snort of disgust when she rolled her eyes. "You don't __**see**__ me," he spat angrily._

_"You don't see me!" she retorted sharply, stung by his tone and his unwillingness to give. A feral wind blew her hair away from her face, sleek and wildly tumbling it over her shoulders. Ron's chin dropped in defeat. Even without any magical robes, anything other than the twig of her wand, she exuded presence with a hint of otherworldly. _

_"I'll be indoors, when you've finished," she waved a hand airily between Ron and Crookshanks, stalking away and into the warm light of the Weasley's kitchen. Getting un-obliviated was clearly going to have to wait and the worm of distrust made itself at home behind Hermione's breastbone._

_Crookshanks resettled himself, folding his front paws one atop the other and himself on top of them. He started a rasping purr that sound like a razor blade passing over rusted corrugated iron._

_Ron swiped a sleeve under his nose. He'd show her. When he got his wand back._

_"Accio wand!" he demanded with an outstretched hand._

_Crookshanks yawned at him scornfully. Hermione would have been able to inform Ron that Familiars, in their innate make-up as magical beings, not to mention the close running similarity between Kneazles and the feline fraternity, that if they had something they didn't want to give up, it would take a lot more that 'accio' to get it._

_0.0_

_Hermione retired to her tower room and paced. Fragments of memories were returning in fits and starts and no particular order. Snape and the Hierarchy of Venom, whatever that was, the three master rigger in the stained glass window of Dumbledore's study bobbing on glassy waves, Cedric and the determination on his face, so like the way he approached a Quidditch match when the odds were firmly in the other team's favour. Cedric, Cedric, Cedric. She was going to tell Ron about the 'phone conversation before it all started to come back. Her heart sank, because of Ron's behaviour, the topic was becoming the 'thing' in the corner of their every interaction. Perhaps for Ron that was how it had always been. The full conversation with Snape returned. 'Beyond even you,' he had said. And Snape was going to St Mungos because he was broken. _

_Hermione paused with mid-step. Beyond even you. What if Snape wanted Hermione to find Cedric – it suggested at least that Cedric was alive, somewhere. What if she could do what Snape could no longer do for himself. What if, what if, what if. The sickening sense that time was running out made Hermione all the more aggravated by Ron's behaviour. It felt like there was a good chance that Ron and his stupid 'obliviate' fiasco was doing untold damage. Hermione hunted for clues in her conversation with Snape. Parseltongue, The Ministry, The Money. The Money…..follow the money. The only way money could be connected to Cedric was if there had been wagering and Cedric would never have agreed to be part of a 'fixed' tournament._

_Hermione curled her fists in frustration and let out an annoyed 'aargh.' She was certain she could tackle whatever the problem was, but first she had to find him. She took a deep breath and opened the dormer window, calling for Crookshanks. Within seconds he was perched on the windowsill, tilting his head at her curiously._

_"We're going to find him," she said firmly. "Tonight."_


	14. Chapter 14

_Crookshanks wobbled awkwardly, before seating himself precariously on the sill. He took a moment to inspect the pad of a front paw minutely, eventually dropping it to join its fellow and wrap his tail securely around both front feet._

_Hermione re-homed a small pile of reference books from the rocking chair to the bedside table and settled one of Molly's hand knitted blankets over her shoulders like a shawl. _

_A tentative knock sounded at the door._

_"Yes?" Hermione called distractedly, expecting Harry or Ron. Harry used to wander in, but had become a good deal more formal since her own incident with him and Ginny. Hermione figured that Ron's modus operandi might stretch to a knock if he was trying to curry favor, and it was with this thought that she made her way to the door and yanked it open, only to find Charlie waiting._

_His rugged frame filled the doorway, he had a large tome tucked under one arm, but he reached out with his other hand, fingering the motley tassels of the blanket around her shoulders thoughtfully._

_"I came to congratulate you on making it into the Ministry. They're lucky to have you. Are you cold?" he asked, almost as an afterthought  
_

_"No, not really. Just...look was there something?" she replied, impatient and annoyed at being disturbed in her preparations. His fingertips grazed her collarbone as his hand dropped away again._

_Crookshanks landed heavily behind her and then mewled pathetically, pausing with a front paw lifted inches from the floor._

_Charlie shouldered past her. "What have you been up to my furry little friend?" he murmured._

_Hermione spun with him, suddenly aware how small the room felt with two people in it, or at least when the other was as large as Charlie. Ron, when he came, sat on the edge of the bed, hunched typically, and took up no space at all. Charlie was different and imposed himself on the space. She gave way before him, retreating to the chair and sat._

_Charlie squatted next to the Kneazle, knees cracking, and dumped the book on the floor. He looped an outstretched finger under the troubled paw and lifted it, craning his neck to peer underneath._

_"Been playing in fireplace without floo powder have we?" he chided, reaching up to scratch behind the animals head. Crookshanks hummed, somewhere between a purr and a growl._

_"It's not serious, but wants a little something." He spread the furry toes gently so Hermione could see a raw patch between the second and third digit. "Here you go," he said, lifting the creature under the shoulders and transferred it to Hermione's lap.  
_

_"I reckon your Mum can fix you up. So...about your job with Magical Creatures"_

_There was an awkward pause before he stooped__ to scoop the book up off the floor and tossed it on the bed. "This will get you started at least, hit me up when you are ready for the advanced stuff. We don't get much around here in the way of dragons other than the occasional Common Green blown off course, but Ron says you like to read up, so...this has basic physiology and some nesting information."_

_Hermione peered at the new addition. Faded gold lettering on an equally faded green leather binding spelled out 'Dragons and Dragonins' an illustrated guide._

_"Thanks Charlie. I'm starting with house-elves, I think. I'm the closest thing to an expert the Ministry has," she said, referring obliquely to her studies and the S.P.E.W incident at Hogwarts. They are turning up all over the place since the war ended, many of them are without families now. They won't accept clothes and are too proud to ask for a new magical family so we have set up a sort of adoption center."_

_"Sounds quite the undertaking," Charlie nodded approvingly. "I'm sure that won't be all you'll get involved in," he said, nodding towards the book and setting his hands on his hips. "Just remember to call in the experts before things get out of hand," he said pragmatically. "We've picked up the pieces from your department before, you know."  
_

_"I'm sure I'll be able to handle anything that comes my way," Hermione replied tartly.  
_

_"I'd like to think that's true," Charlie mused and Hermione got the distinct impression that he was no longer talking about work. He looked pointedly at the shawl. "Mum used to use one like that for traveling," he said lightly. "I heard you falling out with Ron, don't do anything stupid ok?"  
_

_"More stupid than using 'obliviate' on your best friend?" she hissed._

_"He's more than that isn't he? Ron I mean."_

_"No," she whispered, "he isn't." And that was the problem.  
_

_Charlie rubbed his chin and turned for the door. "Good to know," he said, "good to know."_

_Hermione let him go with out further comment, grateful when the door clicked shut. She set a ward and ran a soothing hand over Crookshanks, muttering a suitable incantation to repair the rent in his skin. Crookshanks for his part, set up a steady kneading rhythm on Hermione's lap, one that the chair began to rock in time to, almost of its own volition._

_"I meant what I said," Hermione whispered. "I need your help," she said to the top of Crookshanks' head. "I want to try and find Cedric." Crookshanks rose up on his back paws and rubbed the top of his head under Hermione's chin. A growling purr rose around her, in time with the chair's back and forth, back and forth._

_Hermione's eyes drifted shut, her hands settled on the Kneazle's back and she allowed her mind to go blank. Specks of grey danced across her eyelids she felt herself getting steadily lighter. She pictured Cedric's face as it might look now and teamed it with the sound of his voice saying, "let's get started then." Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears._

_"Find, the man, the man I seek. _

_He may not see, nor hear me speak."_

_Hermione felt the jolt as Crookshanks jumped from her lap to the floor and again as he jumped for the window sill. She closed herself off from the vertiginous sight of the ground melted and spinning below her as Crookshanks loped from launch pad to launch pad, spiraling down across the Burrow's many and varied roof levels. She noted when they hit the ground with the scent of dirt and a misting rain that made her second sight more grey and fuzzy than usual. She tried not to get too annoyed when Crookshanks headed for the warmth and dry of the kitchen instead of heading further afield. She was a passenger, no more, no less._

_Molly's welcoming tones made her pay more attention to her surroundings though and she studied what Crookshanks was looking at with new and better eyes. _

_"Fancy you see something in the clock do you?" said Molly. "Sssh, come away now and you can have the skin off the roast."_

_There on the face of the odd clock, ghostly and splinter-lit was a hand, the same as any member of the Weasley family would have and on it, the distinctive outline of Cedic Diggory._


	15. Chapter 15

_The last place Hermione expected to see Cedric again was in the Weasley's odd clock. It was par for the course, that rather than being nestled amongst the smiling Weasley faces clustered around 'Home,' the hand bearing his face was pointing to 'Mortal Peril.' Hermione alternately quailed and seethed, then paled as the hand faded altogether. No! She cried. Crookshanks hiccuped and looked quite surprised at himself._

_Crookshanks sat, his ears flicking like antennae, following both Molly's footsteps into the larder and the __tock-tock of the clocks mechanism. Over that, a new beat fluttered like a bird, falling in and out of time with the others - Harry, Hermione thought. Below all of that though, was a slower, steady pulse making barely a sound, but it was there nonetheless and undetectable to ordinary human hearing. Hermione's heart picked up. Cedric! she thought, still alive, even if only by a thread._

_A thread indeed, Hermione noted via Kneazle-vision, a gossamer line twisted from the base of the hand and up, into the ether. The line shimmered gold and black against the multicolored motes in the air. Hermione itched to follow it. __She considered severing the link between herself and her Familiar, desperately keen to follow the new trail blazed by the clock, but it was dangerous stuff, leaving a consciousness exposed, a bit like exposing the naked brain without the protective covering of a skull. Common sense told her she would never find it again without Crookshanks and Crookshanks was currently more interested in food._

_Molly dangled a piece of pork crackling under Crookshanks' nose and he accepted it from her fingers with great aplomb. He dropped it deliberately and caught it up again in his fangs, trotting neatly out of the kitchen. Molly watched the departing animal keenly, glancing once more at the clock with her eyes screwed almost closed._

_"You're welcome," Molly called as the furry backside cleared the threshold at speed. In a different tone completely, she called,"Arthur!"_

_0.0_

_Crookshanks paused on the back lawn to devour his morsel while Hermione's consciousness coiled and uncoiled in the confines that a Traveler occupied. __The kneazle licked his whiskers fastidiously and stared up, towards the dim light of Hermione's bedroom window, just as Hermione felt a questing hand touch the ward she had set on the door. He immediately jumped for the low wall which lead on to the well trodden path to the dormer window. She...let go a little._

_Crookshanks paused frozen and wide eyed before the next jump that would lead to the low roof of the cold store. Hermione felt herself drifting and concentrated on stopping, hanging in mid-air like a firefly. She checked she could still see the thread, allowed her shadowy form to nod to Crookshanks and let go completely. He made the jump and then another, she sensed his gain in height out of the periphery of her mind, trying to take in the vast expanse of ground below her as she too, rose in altitude. The thread thrummed like a living thing. Hermione gathered herself around the line and furling a smoke-like tail around the light and plunged along it like a zip wire._

_The lights of the Burrow diminished and vanished. Sparse pinpricks of outlying buildings and a brief spark of a village here and there passed below her until a greater spread of humanity appeared on the horizon. The atmosphere changed from light and drizzly to heavy and saturated. Beneath her a stern breeze whipped waves at the coast into foam flecked crests that roared to shore and hissed away. Hermione tried to concentrate on the buzz of the thread encircled by her ethereal self instead of being distracted by the heavy drops of rain that now fell through her.  
_

_The thread stretched on, in amongst the varied rooftops and Muggle dwellings and down through a sash window open a bare crack. Lights blazed in a sparsely furnished sitting room. Outside, Hermione hovered midair, trying to make out the figures in the room beyond. There were two, a slim man sat on a low couch, with his back to the window. He was calling to another, out of sight and in charge of taking delivery of pizza, but stiffened the instant that her ghostly form brushed against the sill.  
_

_"If they forgot the olives again I'll-" the seated figure reached down to pick a dark sphere the size of a tennis ball from the floor. He held it so tightly the tendons stood out on the back of his hand. There was an instant as he turned that Hermione forgot herself, releasing the humming thread and coalescing into a ghostly form, rather than remaining as part of the misting rain of the coast. The same instant that the seated figure stared directly at her. He looked nothing like she expected, pale skin, dark hair and wild eyes. He screamed, hurling the sphere directly at the window, "I'll kill you!"_

_The sphere shattered on impact, the window panes glowed with a pale green licking flame and a curling acrid mist slid out the open window, fraying Hermione's fragile form. Panicking now, she grasped for the thread to orient herself away and back from the attack. There was no defense to be had in her current form, fleeing was the only option. In the room beyond, hurried footsteps sounded. A second figure appeared, bearded and wary, carrying a pizza box. She jerked hard on the thread to pull her particles more tightly around it, the angle of the zip wire inverted, carrying her sharply away. The bearded figure gasped as his knees buckled, sending the box and its contents tumbling to the floor. _

_"What did you do?" he groaned._

_"It looked like a Dementor!" came the strangled response from the couch_

_"It wasn't. It's something else. Someone else. There's only one of those left and we have been found. We have to get an owl to Snape."_

_0.0_

_Charlie leaned back against the stairwell wall, certain that Hermione would know he had tested for defenses and equally sure that he would suspect that she was traveling. He smiled to himself, pleased that she had taken the trouble to give herself an early warning mechanism. He couldn't be sure how good the ward was without making a nuisance of himself and it was too early for that. Footsteps sounded below him, thumping and annoyed. Ron's tousled head came into view around the twisted staircase and Charlie slipped down noiselessly to seat himself on the top step. Ron came face to toe with Charlie's sneakers._

_"What are you doing here?" Ron asked in surprise._

_"I gave Hermione a starter kit of sorts. She'll meet just about everything where she's going," Charlie replied mildly. He eyed his brother with the curiosity, mentally parking him next to someone who repeatedly won the lotto and instead of cashing it in, set light to it every time, just to watch it burn._

_"She can handle it," Ron scowled._

_Charlie gave a short bark of laughter. "That's funny, it's exactly what she said. I just thought I'd give her a little help."_

_"She doesn't need help. She doesn't need anybody," Ron finished bitterly. "I only came up to see if Crookshanks was ok."_

_"Oh, that was you was it?" Charlie leaned back, glaring at Ron with distaste._

_"We fell out, me and Hermione I mean. Crookshanks." Ron sighed, wiping a hand over his brow and eyes. "He wouldn't let me have my wand back, you know they act like dampers. It was embarrassing."_

_"So you...?"_

_"I was angry, I called fire. I didn't think it would work, but it did. He must have just gone to get up and I scorched him. Anyway," Ron finished lamely._

_Charlie rubbed the side of his face absently, sweeping it up to pinch at his eyebrow._

_"Dangerous stuff, fire," he said out loud. "I saw him a few moments ago, Hermione will have patched him up fine." He patted the stair beside him. "So, what did you two fall out about? I thought you two were like that?" Charlie crossed the fingers on one hand and held it up between them.  
_

_Ron squashed himself in beside his older brother and sighed, trying to figure out where his dreams of standing alongside Hermione in any capacity other than 'mate' had derailed themselves. "I swear she still sees me as the same bloke she went to school with."_

_"Well, aren't you?" Charlie knocked his shoulder into Ron's._

_"Obviously, but it's different now. We grew up, both of us, but she still treats me like I'm her shadow, not her equal. I'm not - her equal I mean, I'm different that's all I'm trying to say. Different since the war. More. Better." he shook his head in annoyance._

_"We all are," agreed Charlie, staring at his feet and looping his arms around his knees. "She is too." he looked up, swallowing, "we all lost family, friends."_

_"And some of us are still looking for them," blurted Ron._

_Charlie stiffened. Ron continued blindly," she's hung up on this idea," he started to explain and stopped himself, uncertain if this was something to share. It wasn't exactly his to share, so to speak. He gritted his teeth in frustration, playing chess with the ideas of what penalty might be added to his and Hermione's already strained status._

_"Looking for who?" Charlie asked innocently. His fingers knotted and unknotted themselves._

_"She'll kill me," Ron breathed. _

_Charlie tried a different tack. "Has she been traveling before?"_

_Ron frowned, trying to remember if she had ever mentioned it._

_"I don't think so, but you know what she's like - she'll read something once and whompf, it's in there." he tapped his forehead._

_"I think she went traveling tonight." Charlie mused. "What is it she's after?" he asked earnestly._

_"If I tell you, it didn't come from me, right?" Ron replied in a worried tone, trying to work out if there had been anything in the days event that might had been a lead. He wracked his brains and came up with nothing but the deep seated nagging fear that something would happen and he wouldn't be 'there.'_

_"Spill," Charlie demanded._

_"It's Cedric." Ron stated, his mouth curling with distaste._

_"Cedric who?"_

_"Diggory. Died in the maze remember? Voldemort did for him in the graveyard and Harry brought his body back."_

_Charlie's mouth thinned to a stern line and he folded his arms over his chest._

_"Where do you think she went tonight?" Charlie's voice bordered on hoarse. Ron didn't appear to notice._

_"No idea, mate. We're not exactly on speaking terms right now. Dad said she was looking for camper van they found in some newspaper - maybe she went to have a look at it?" he added dubiously._

_"Where was that?" Charlie asked sharply._

_"Somewhere down on the coast I think. Not far from here, anyway."_

_"Shit!" muttered Charlie, getting up so fast that Ron bumped down a step. "I'm going in, we have to get her back."_

_ 0.0_

A/N I'm hoping like hell this still hangs together, it's been a while


	16. Chapter 16

A/N Previous chapter overwritten, in case you missed it. JKR wrote Ron and almost killed him off. There's still time. Meanwhile, back at the library….

Noise seeped back into Hermione's awareness, starting with what sounded like a scuffle in the hallway. Something thumped heavily into the wall, along with an audible 'oof' sound. Charlie's soft laugh sounded in retreat and Ron's pained expression appeared in the doorway, followed by his stooped frame. He rubbed his stomach in a circle, slightly bent forward at the waist as if he had eaten something bad, but it was too early to throw up yet.

Ron's voice was quiet when it came. "Sorry Hermione. I'm an arse."

"And this is news how exactly?" she said archly. The odd sensation of reflected guilt hit her. It wasn't her fault Ron felt so strongly for. Nor was it her fault that she didn't return it in kind, she could barely imagine her life without him in it, simply not to the same extent as he did, nor had it eroded with time. There has simply come to be a resigned acceptance of sorts on both their parts. Her confused feelings for Charlie weren't helping either, the hairs on her nape rose remembering being squashed firmly between the desk and his hard body. It hadn't been all bad.

"Complete arse," he added. "I thought you might be choosing Charlie over me. At least that would be easier to compete with, I mean, not because he is my brother, but because he is at least-." He made a strangled noise that sounded like the word 'alive´ being choked off. Ron ran a weary hand over his face. "Yeah, well. Been there, done that."

It was on the tip of her tongue that she wasn't choosing anyone over anyone when he drew himself upright with a downturn of his mouth. "I suppose you'll be off soon then, now that you've caught up with Charlie. Need me for anything?"

He was staring at her mouth. She almost put a hand to it, it felt swollen after Charlie, not unpleasantly, but definitely not normal. "Seen Crookshanks anywhere?" She said doubtfully.

Ron winced, rubbing at the top of his leg. "Not lately. Probably out in the marshes somewhere murdering something defenceless." His stomach still hurt after Charlie slapped him across it with the back of his hand. "Last chance Champ," he had hissed and Ron hadn't understood. He did now and the consequences curdled in his veins.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not leaving without him," she said firmly. "So if you're trying to get rid of me, you'd better help me look."

Ron wanted to say that was the opposite of what he wanted. He couldn't explain exactly how he felt like there was a piece of him missing when she wasn't around. He focused on a point beyond her right ear to dispel the quiet impulse to cry or hit something very, very hard. Inside his chest, something tore itself clean down the middle and threw half of itself away. "He doesn't like me much, don't think he'll exactly come if I call him," Ron said deadpan. Then equally deadpan, "Charlie's good with animals," and strode to the mantel behind the desk.

Ron squinted at the ship in the bottle, peacefully at rest on a sandy shore. He felt sick when he found exactly what he was looking for.

"He's good with the Library too, he always said it was like a woman, capricious he calls it."

Hermione flicked her gaze to the alcove of tomes stacked floor to ceiling in the alcove. Not a book was out of place. The neat rows of faded bindings called to her like the softest Sirens call. Beyond the farthest right hand side, there was an inch of shadow between the edge of the bookcase and the wall that shouldn't be there. Given half a chance she would bet her pointy hat that if she tried to reach the end of the edge of that particular shelf, that it went on forever, no turns, no kinks, until you looked back. Or tried to leave. She forced her eyes away, trying to concentrate on Ron. In all the years she had known him, he had never sounded so clipped. It was only then she spotted the remains of sparkling grit lodged in the fibers of the ornate rug. A cleaning spell would have those polished off in no time. A hasty cleaning spell…wouldn't.

Ron tapped the neck of the bottle, jiggling it on its wooden stand. He said tightly, "I had to look it up, what the word means."

Hermione thought he was annoyed by his lack of understanding. She was wrong. She also knew what the word meant and prickled at the thought that he might be laying an accusation at her door. Hermione felt that no part of _her_ could be labelled _that_ way.

"So," he said lightly. "How was the view from the Bridge?"

"What Bridge?"

"Don't play dumb, although I have to say that's the sort he usually goes for. You're quite a sea-change for him, I don't think he's taken one of his women there before."

"One of his _what_?"

"I forgot," Ron said sourly. "You are so far above the rumor mill, it must give you vertigo when you look down on the rest of us. He's never brought one home before either, but then until this last year you've always been here?" He left the 'with me' part of the sentence out, it hung uncomfortably in the air between them.

Hermione twisted around to face Ron's back. His head was bent forward in study. Ron's fingernail flicked against the glass with a rhythmic 'plink' noise, like a child at an aquarium aggravating the fish.

"What Bridge," she repeated in annoyance. "What the Hell are you on about?"

Ron spun back with the bottle gripped securely by the neck. He pointed at her mouth and rattling out in staccato bursts like he was presenting at an Auror's court and stabbing at her with his finger to underscore each statement. He made his way around the desk in long strides as he went, despite his rough handling with the bottle, the ship remained resolutely upright, sand sliding beneath it.

"You look like you've been snogged senseless. There's sand in the carpet a second year wouldn't leave behind if he was covering his tracks. And Charlie caught me in the hallway with a grin the size of Cheshire. The only thing I can say is that he wasn't swaggering so you haven't given it up for him yet."

Hermione gaped at him in astonishment while Ron finished his tirade.

"Do us all a favor," he hissed in a harsh tone. "If it has to happen under this roof, at least wait until I'm out from under it."

"I didn't!"

"Don't bloody lie to me," Ron almost shouted. "I might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I'm not a bloody idiot." His finger trembled in mid-air while his thoughts raced. He had come in looking for an improvement on the armistice they operated under. They had gotten so good at it, that no-one at work outside of the know knew their friendship was anything that it had always been. He was leaving with less than he came with in every way.

"He kissed me!" Hermione defended, flushing hotly. Her temper shimmered below the surface. She absolutely forbade herself from stupefying him. Things left unsaid had festered for long enough. "I am not your possession. You do not own me, my time or what I do. I am your _friend_ Ronald Weasley and if you can't see that over anything else, I can't help you. Hermione was found she was shaking.

Ron slammed the bottle, bottom down on the desk so hard it should rightly have splintered. Hermione cringed away from the impact. Soundlessly Ron pointed to it and then her.

"And you let him. I'm allowed to _care_ aren't I?" he whispered. "Allowed to give a shit that he doesn't treat you like all the rest?"

Hermione glanced at the ship, now shrunk to fit the narrower confines of the width rather than the length of the bottle. A ginger blob on the prow caught her eye and she found herself unable to look away, even as Ron departed in silence.

Hermione tipped the bottle over, steadying it as it hit the desktop and made to roll away. The ship re-sized to fit the new physics of the cylinder.

"_Engorgio!"_ Hermione urged, but the bottle resisted her efforts. She peered closer and sighed. Crookshanks was in the bottle, on the ship. He sat bolt upright, masquerading as the stripy locks of the bare breasted figurehead and stared forwards over the unending sands.

Hermione fumed at Ron. He should be aware by now that Crookshanks was a free agent and not an indication of where she herself had been. Her stomach rolled with unease. If she was leaving tonight, she needed to go into the library and to do it, needed Ron on the end of the rope. Or Charlie.


End file.
